Mania - A Thriller (Jon Stanton Mysteries Book 9)

by Victor Methos

  As he was going back in, his cell phone buzzed. The ID said “Laka.”

  “Hey,” he answered.

  “Hey, I’m sorry to bug you. I know you’re at home.”

  “No worries. What’s up?”

  “I have a pretty bad domestic violence and was wondering if you could back me up. I got some uniforms here but I wanted you to have first crack at the husband. You’re better at that than I am.”

  “Better at what?”

  “I don’t know. Just getting people to talk, I guess.”

  “I’ll come down, but that’s not true. You’re a good detective, Laka.”

  “Thanks. I’ll text you the address.”

  Stanton was out the door in a few minutes, stopping again briefly on the patio to watch the ocean. Laka had been a detective a little over a year and still had problems soliciting information. She took a stance of division: us and them. Stanton didn’t see it that way. Anyone was capable of anything.

  He’d seen a lot of good people, people in positions of trust and power, turn to bad people in a moment. Sometimes it was gradual, but sometimes the transformation was instant. One moment everyone knew who the person was, and the next the person was someone else that no one ever would’ve imagined they could become.

  The address was on a street he knew well: Haluka Drive. The government-subsidized housing was the one place on the island other than Chinatown that the police didn’t like going at night.

  Several cruisers and an ambulance were already at the address by the time Stanton pulled up. The lawn in front of the brown house was missing patches of grass. He hopped out of his Jeep and pushed his sunglasses up on his head. The pit bull chained up in the front seemed too skinny and lethargic, its brown fur with black stripes stretched tight over visible ribs and a head that seemed far too big for its body. Stanton leaned down. The dog looked up at him lazily. He reached through the fence and ran his finger over the dog’s snout. The dog closed its eyes as though appreciating the contact with another living creature.

  Inside the house, a local islander sat on the couch with his wrists cuffed behind him, a uniformed officer next to him. The odor of alcohol was overwhelming. Near the back door, Laka stood with a crying woman. The woman had a swollen eye, and EMTs were looking at some injuries to her arms. Laka noticed him, said something to the woman, and came over.

  “Jon, this is Mr. Akina. He goes by Robert.”

  Stanton sat down next to the man. “The cuffs aren’t necessary, Officer.”

  The uniform hesitated a moment and then uncuffed the man.

  “Thank you,” Robert said.

  “My name is Jon.” He glanced at the woman. “She your wife?” Robert nodded. “I was married once,” Stanton said.

  Robert chuckled softly. “Ain’t easy, man. They don’t tell you nothin’ when you gettin’ into it.”

  “No, they don’t. Like that you’re going to give up some of the things you love most.”

  “Yeah. I had me a Harley, man. Softail.”

  Stanton whistled through his teeth. “That’s a nice bike.”

  He nodded. “Spent my savings on it.” He looked at his wife. “She made me sell it. Said there was no reason for it. No fucking reason. I used to love goin’ around the island, man. Wind over my face, you know?”

  “Yeah. Freedom.”

  “Yeah, man. Freedom. Me ka aloha. Just out by myself. I ain’t got no time for myself no more.”

  Stanton hesitated. “I know you love her, Robert. And I know you’re sorry. But your natural defenses are coming up right now. You’re hurt that you would allow yourself to do something like this. And so you’re trying to justify it, trying to come up with reasons she deserved it. That way you don’t have to believe what you did was so horrible.” Stanton placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do that. Don’t hide from the truth—it doesn’t solve anything.” Stanton paused. “Trust me, I know.”

  Tears came to Robert’s eyes. “I love her, man. I do. She just pisses me off so much sometimes I lose my shit.”

  “It’s okay to lose your temper. Just don’t let it devour you.”

  Stanton left his hand on Robert’s shoulder while the man began his statement. Stanton pointedly glanced up at the officer, who said, “Oh,” and fumbled with a notepad before hurriedly scribbling down notes as Robert spoke. It was a story Stanton had heard a thousand times: he got drunk, they got into a fight, he resorted to violence.

  After telling the story, Robert was handcuffed again and taken to the cruiser.

  “Mahalo,” Robert said, thanking Stanton.

  “He me iki ia,” Stanton replied. It’s nothing. He waited until Robert was in the cruiser before walking over to check on the victim.

  The wife’s face had swelled up so much that one of her eyes had completely closed. The EMTs said her left arm was fractured, and they wanted to take her down to the ER. She kept repeating, “I don’t want to press charges.”

  Laka listened and explained softly why she needed to cooperate, that this would keep happening over and over. She had to make a clean break, and there were resources available to her. But the woman insisted that it was just a drunken mistake that wouldn’t happen again.

  When the woman and Laka had paused, both realizing the other wasn’t about to give up, Stanton said, “I’m sorry about what happened. I have one question before I leave, though. That dog in the yard is malnourished. When was the last time it was fed?”

  The woman looked at him as though he were crazy. “The dog? I don’t know.”

  “Well, I’d like to go buy some dog food, but I need to make sure it’s actually going to be used.”

  “Who gives a shit about a dog? You can take him and put him down if you want.”

  Stanton was silent a moment. “You want us to get rid of him?”

  “I don’t care. Do whatever you want. I don’t want him no more.”

  Stanton turned away.

  He left the house as Robert was driven away. He went over to the dog and unchained him. “Come on, buddy. Come on.” An empty food bowl sat near the dog, with the name “Hanny” on it. Stanton wasn’t sure if that actually was the dog’s name, but he liked it.

  “Come on, Hanny. Come on.”

  The dog didn’t have the strength to move. He had just enough strength to rest his chin on Stanton’s palm. Stanton sat down and let Hanny rest on his left thigh as he scratched behind his ears. Stanton felt the dog’s heartbeat against his leg. It was slow—in addition to starving, the dog was dehydrated and sick.

  Stanton slid his arms underneath the dog and picked him up, pressed him against his chest, and walked back to the Jeep.

  5

  The nearest veterinary clinic, almost all the way across the island, had an ER run by two veterinarians and their four assistants. Stanton had been there once before when his partner, Laka, had a cat that required surgery.

  Stanton’s vehicle was the only one in the lot. He carried Hanny inside and told the assistant at the front desk what had happened. She immediately led him into the back and laid the dog on a gurney. The veterinarian and another assistant began checking him, and Stanton left the room and went to sit in the lobby. Leaning his head against the wall, he took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. He’d been in similar situations before, but never at a vet clinic. Usually he’d be in some hospital corridor waiting for a victim to gather the courage to speak to him. Maybe he’d get a description of the attacker, maybe he wouldn’t get anything. The darkness he’d seen over and over again came in different forms. Robert Akina had that darkness in him, though he considered himself a good man. Outwardly, other than beating his wife, he may have been. But it didn’t matter. The darkness would take what it wanted. Stanton had no doubt that, one day, he’d be called out to Robert’s house on a homicide rather than a domestic violence incident.

  An hour passed before the vet came out. Hands in his pockets, he grinned and said, “He’s gonna be okay, Detective. Really
malnourished, and there’s an infection on his hind leg. I’m putting him on antibiotics, and some rest and weight gain should get him back up to 100 percent. Um, did you want us to notify the shelter to come get him?”

  Stanton rose. Over the vet’s shoulder, he could see into the room. Hanny was sitting up and digging ferociously into a silver bowl of canned dog food. The assistant who had checked them in was cleaning and bandaging the wound on his hind leg.

  “What happens at the shelter?” Stanton said.

  “They’ll try to get someone to adopt him. He’s middle-aged, though. It’s not easy if they aren’t puppies, particularly with this breed. If they can’t find someone in a couple of weeks, they’ll have to put him down. They just don’t have resources to keep many animals there.”

  “There are places that take them, though. You pay a fee and they feed them and take care of them.”

  “No-kill shelters. We don’t have any on the island.” The vet chuckled. “Hell, you could start one. So you want me to make the call?”

  Stanton shook his head. “No. He’s coming with me.”

  When Stanton got home, Hanny whined in the crate in the backseat. He parked in the driveway and opened the crate. Hanny needed help to get out of it, and then Stanton carried him inside. Hanny perked up, probably in response to the air conditioning, and Stanton laid him at the foot of the couch and sat down. He had never had a dog. Not growing up, not with his children. A small panic seized him when he realized another living thing was now relying solely on him.

  The difference between Hanny in the yard and Hanny now was astronomical. Even his eyes were different, full of some sense of life again, of hope.

  Just as Stanton was wondering what exactly a person did with a dog all day, his cell phone rang. He checked the number and didn’t recognize it, though it had Seattle’s 206 area code.

  “This is Jon Stanton.”

  “Detective Stanton, I’m glad I caught you,” a female voice said. “I’m Kristie Wong. I’m a detective with the Seattle Police Department.”

  Stanton’s heart dropped. “Yeah?”

  “We, um, we have a situation up here that I thought you might be interested in. A series of bodies was discovered, and we believe one of those bodies might be Elizabeth Stanton.”

  Stanton sank back into the couch. Hanny, with an effort as though climbing Mt. Everest, rose up onto his legs and crawled onto the couch. Stanton was so surprised he said, “Holy crap.”

  “Excuse me?” Wong said.

  “Not you, sorry. It was a dog.”

  “Oh. Well, I came across Elizabeth’s file in the archives. Looks like she disappeared twenty-seven years ago, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I read some of the reports. They kept mentioning a ten-year-old boy who would come down to the precinct and try to help with the investigation. I assume that was you?”

  “It was.” Stanton hesitated. “Why do you think… I mean…”

  “We found something. A ring. It had the name E. Stanton engraved on it.”

  “Where did you find it?” Silence. “Detective, I already know about Reginald Carter. He was Elizabeth’s physics teacher.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, yeah, we found the ring in a little plastic baggie in his basement. In, like, a workbench. We’re still identifying the bodies from dental records. So far, we haven’t found Elizabeth’s but… anyway, I thought you at least deserved the call. If you’d like, I’d be more than happy to have you part of all this. Professional courtesy and all.”

  “No… I don’t know.”

  She hesitated. “If you have any questions, Detective, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

  “I won’t. Thanks.”

  Stanton hung up and leaned his head back. He let out a large breath, and Hanny did the same.

  6

  Stanton decided he would take Hanny for a short walk. A quick bout of exercise couldn’t hurt, though the vet hadn’t specifically told him to walk the dog. Stanton was surprised at how little information the vet had given him when he left. The one thing he’d stressed was that Hanny had been starved of stimulation as well. Stanton needed to spend a lot of time with him and speak in comforting tones but still show the dog that Stanton was the alpha. Stanton, an intellectual nearly his entire life, had never been the alpha of anything, much less a pit bull.

  He tied some heavy twine to the dog’s collar, reasoning that Hanny didn’t have the strength to hurt himself or break away right now, and took the dog out. Hanny stumbled more than he walked, but by the wag of his tail, Stanton guessed he enjoyed himself enormously. They went up the street, said hi to one of his neighbors, and then slowly made their way back home. Hanny collapsed from exhaustion on the patio. After some water and a little more food, he looked about as happy as a dog could look.

  Stanton leaned back in his chair, and the two of them watched the waves rolling across the ocean in the moonlight.

  In the morning, Stanton realized he hadn’t thought through what he would do with the dog while he was at work, so he took Hanny with him. After a quick walk so Hanny could relieve himself, they went to the precinct.

  “Oh… my… gosh,” Laka said. “That is the cutest dog. Is that the one from yesterday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t really get to look at him,” she said, bending down and offering Hanny her hand. He ran his tongue over the back of her fist as though giving her permission, and she rubbed his head. “What’s he doing here?”

  “He’s mine until I find someone that can take him in.”

  A tall, lean detective came over and stared at the dog. “Shit, Jon, make sure the locals don’t eat him.”

  “Fuck you, Buster,” Laka said.

  “Just tell me you guys don’t eat dogs and I’ll never bring it up again.”

  Stanton bent down and patted Hanny’s head. “Most of the world actually eats dogs. Some cultures think eating pigs is far more disgusting.”

  Buster grimaced. “Dog’s got personality.”

  Kai poked his head out of his office. “Laka, Jon, caught one over on Benau Street. Drive-by shooting. Suspects in custody.”

  “Got it,” Stanton said. Kai looked down at the dog. “He’s just temporary,” Stanton added quickly.

  Benau Street was an area of the city most locals knew to stay away from. Most of the residents made their money selling drugs. In fact, one of the narc detectives had told Stanton that one out of every four houses on the street was a drug house. But no convictions came from this neighborhood because no one would ever testify against anyone else. Once the convictions dried up, the police stopped making arrests.

  The neighborhood seemed incongruous with its surroundings. One of the most beautiful parts of the island circled the neighborhood: a jungle so deeply green that it seemed to glow in the morning sunlight, the trees dappled orange and yellow. The smell of the coffee plantations nearby wafted over, giving the entire neighborhood a semisweet aroma. But the houses themselves were run-down—car parts, mattresses, and other garbage thrown around lawns and driveways.

  Stanton stopped in front of a home with two police cruisers and the Special Investigations Section van out front. Laka sat in the passenger seat, and Hanny whined from his crate in the backseat.

  “You might as well let him out,” Laka said. “I don’t think he’d be much safer in that crate if we got into a wreck.”

  Stanton let him out and tied his new leash to the steering wheel. The dog whined as Stanton walked away toward the home.

  “I think you have a new friend,” Laka said.

  “Great. A friend that can’t talk is exactly what I need right now.”

  Laka took off her long-sleeved shirt, revealing the tribal tattoos that covered most of her body. She wore her T-shirt and a badge dangling from a lanyard around her neck when they ducked under the police tape. “What you need right now is a girlfriend. What happened to that blonde you were dating? The one with the fake tits?”

  “
She moved faster than I wanted.”

  “You mean she wanted to have sex?”

  Stanton shrugged. “I can’t do it.”

  “I know you’re religious and everything, but isn’t that a little outdated?”

  “I don’t think there’s any quicker way to ruin your life than being promiscuous.” In front of them, on the porch, lay a man with half his head missing.

  “Except maybe that,” Laka said.

  Thick, black blood had pooled around the body like syrup. Brain matter spattered over the wall, and bits of skull dotted the bush next to the porch. Stanton leaned down and looked at the body as a forensic tech snapped photos. He straightened to see the street and saw three young boys, maybe sixteen, leaning against a police car. One of them, an Asian with a black hoodie, looked antsy and kept glancing around. Finally, the officer’s attention turned toward one of the other boys, and the Asian kid darted out into the street and away, uncuffed.

  Stanton sprinted through the yard and leapt over the neighbor’s fence. He dashed across the street as a truck’s driver slammed on his brakes and leaned on the horn.

  “Where’s the cuffs?” Stanton shouted angrily at the dumbstruck officer as he ran past.

  Two other uniforms tried to keep up, but they never got near. Stanton was too fast. He dashed in between houses, up onto a back porch, and jumped into the backyard. The boy was fast, too. He leapt over the fence and Stanton followed.