15 Signs Of Murder (Fifteen thrillers)

by Luis Samways

  The likelihood that there were dead bodies in that house was astounding. This whole mission could be a waste of time. Instead of stumbling on our killer, we stumble on another load of bodies. I didn’t need that sort of result. I needed him in cuffs and this over with.

  “We have blood near the front door,” my radio cracked. I shut my eyes and inhaled a few deep breaths. Upon opening them, I saw that the SWAT guys next to me were moving in. So was Santiago. I had fallen behind, but not far enough. In my mind, I didn’t want to be there. I quickly grabbed a few loose pills I kept in my jacket pocket and chucked them into my mouth. After I swallowed, I heard a rather large bang. They hadn’t wasted any time. The front door was blown in. And then I heard gunshots. They sounded like fireworks popping on New Year’s Eve. The cheap ones. The ones you got from the local liquor store for less than ten bucks.

  Once I’d made my way around the corner and through the gate, I saw Santiago shooting at somebody. That somebody was a tall man in a leather jacket. He looked like a goon. Muscle for hire, if you will. I hesitated. Santiago was the only one exposed. The SWAT guys were swarming around the perimeter of the house, making their way through windows and back doors. San and I were the only ones in the front. There had been three SWAT guys with us, but they had been shot. I panicked a little at the sight of one of the SWAT men holding his bloodied neck as it spat blood out. My vision was then cast back to the man in the leather jacket shooting at us. I pulled myself through it. I swallowed hard and raised my weapon. Everything went numb. Bullets ricocheted off the door frame. The guy was a bad shot. But bad shots sometimes get lucky. And that’s what happened.

  Within the blink of an eye, I heard Santiago scream. He hit the deck and held his chest. For a split second, I analyzed the severity of my partner’s gunshot wound. I looked to see if there was any blood. I tried to decipher the pain on his face. But then my training kicked in. I stopped looking at San writhing in pain on the floor. I pressed down on the trigger three times.

  Click click click.

  The guy in the leather jacket held his sternum on the first shot, then flailed his arms on the second. The third put a neat little hole in his forehead, which made the contents of the back of his head explode. He fell backward on the third shot and landed through a wooden coffee table, splitting it in half.

  But I was already attending to Santiago. I was trying to save his life. I was searching for his wound, determined to evaluate his chances. All the while, San was smiling at me. He had a grin on his face. One that stretched the skin around his eyes and made him look older than his years.

  “Well, it’s been a pleasure,” he said under his breath.

  Fifty-Nine

  Tony looked confused and scared. He could hear gunfire above him. Richard Kendrick’s eyes were now showing through the swelling. He could see faintly. Nothing clearly, but enough to make out shapes and people. His vision resembled the sight of a man who’d lost his glasses. Everything was blurry, but good enough to see five feet in front of him.

  “What the hell?” Tony let out. That was the sort of reaction Richard was looking for. It was coated in fear. He could hear Tony’s vocal chords cracking under the pressure of the situation.

  Richard wasn’t afraid. He knew what was going on. The police had tracked him down. They were breaching Tony’s house. It wasn’t going to plan. Richard wanted the spree to last longer. He didn’t want to be detained. He figured he had a little more left in him. A little more killing. A few more bodies. That was all he was asking for. He didn’t think it was an unreasonable request. On the contrary. He thought it was owed to him. Surely they couldn’t end his fun now? How unfair would that be!

  “Get up!” Tony yelled. “You’re coming with me!” he said.

  That was when another thick smile crept across Richard’s face. It was hard to hide. It pissed Tony off. It was the second time that Richard had smiled at him. Captured men weren’t supposed to enjoy their torture. They weren’t supposed to enjoy the pain. But the man who called himself RANDOM RICK wasn’t any ordinary man. He enjoyed pain. He enjoyed being tied up to a chair and beaten within an inch of judgment.

  “Wipe that stupid smile off your face!” Tony yelled, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a gun. He placed it on Richard’s left temple and pushed down hard sending white flashes into Richard’s vision.

  “Oh, yeah. Like that!” Richard said.

  Tony grimaced. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you some kind of weirdo?” he asked. It was a stupid question, really, considering the things that Richard had done in the past three days.

  “I just have one thing to say before one of us dies,” Richard said.

  Tony still had a look of confusion on his face. The gunfire up above them was still ringing through their eardrums. The sound of hurried footsteps could be heard.

  “What do you mean? I’m the one with the gun! You’re the one who’s going to die!” Tony yelled.

  “That may be so,” Richard said, loosening the restraints around his wrists. “But I have one final thing to say before the trigger gets pulled.”

  Tony shook his head and said, “Go on, then!”

  “I’ve always wanted to kill you, Tony. Ever since we met in high school. All the times you got away with being the most arrogant, talentless piece of shit that ever walked this earth.”

  “Is that what this is about? You killed all those people because of me?”

  That’s when the smile on Richard’s face widened. You couldn’t remove it if you tried.

  “No, of course not. I mean, that just proves my point,” Richard hissed. His anger was beginning to swarm his body, boiling his blood. The restraints around his wrists behind his back were hanging by a thread. “That’s what I mean. You have this pompous way about you. You seriously think that I killed all those people because of you?”

  Tony nodded. “Yeah, I do. Why else would you have showed up on my doorstep?”

  That was when the restraints behind Richard’s back snapped, and he said, “Because you’re the icing on the cake. You’re the grand finale. Everybody I killed deserved to die. You deserve it more, though.”

  Richard exploded off his chair, ripping the rope around his wrists and bringing his arms forward. Tony didn’t have time to react. Richard grabbed Tony’s gun-toting right arm and snapped it. The impact of the snap made Tony scream. His finger pressed down on the trigger, but the gun was pressed into his own side at the angle of the broken arm. Two bullets went colliding around his ribcage, tearing a few dozen holes in his lungs. Then Richard produced a three-inch knife he had tucked away in his right sock. He quickly jabbed it into Tony’s sternum, right in the middle, hitting his heart. Blood pumped out of the miniature wound and sprayed up Richard’s face. The taste of Tony’s death made Richard happy. Everything had come full circle. The people who died that day wouldn’t die in vain. Not now that it was complete. He had no regrets. Sometimes you need to cull the population. And Richard was the man to do so.

  The gunshots were still echoing upstairs. But then suddenly, they stopped. Richard knew that, judging by the stern voices he could hear above him, the police had gotten the best of Tony’s hired goons. It was a good job that Tony had called them, or the police would have found him more quickly, and he’d probably be in cuffs. But they hadn’t, and by what he could hear, they were still in the house. So he had to make a move before they found him.

  He turned left and saw two double trap doors above his head. A little stepladder sat below them. He made his way up the four rungs and opened the trap doors. A burst of light hit him in the face. He could hear a door opening near him. It sounded like a sliding door, but Richard wasn’t going to hang around to find out. He made a break for the fence in front of him, cutting through the backyard, jumping over a barbecue and water feature.

  Sixty

  I saw the smile on Santiago fade. I slapped him really hard.

  “Hey!” he shouted.

  “You got hit in the vest, you
fucking idiot,” I snarled. “Now get up!”

  He did as I said. He was brushing himself off. We made our way into the house. The carnage was unbelievable. Five gunmen had taken out three SWAT men and one police officer. They had sprayed the place with SMG fire. High rate of fire machine guns versus handguns usually spells disaster for the people with the handguns. But we managed to pull it out and dispatched the assailants. I was still confused as to why there were gunmen shooting at us at all. But I didn’t have time to ponder the why’s and who’s of the case. I heard somebody shout something.

  “Backyard, jumping over the fence!” I heard the voice say.

  San and I sprinted into action, running through the living room into the kitchen. I saw a big bay door open and four SWAT guys running through the large garden. In the distance I could see a man jumping a fence. He was hanging at the top, struggling to get himself over. I could tell by how far away he was that the SWAT guys weren’t going to get him. Before they knew it, he was over the fence and had disappeared, but not before one of the SWAT men let off a clip into the fence.

  “Don’t fucking shoot! This is a residential street, you fucking idiot. Kids could be around,” I yelled.

  But I didn’t hang around. I was out of there, and so was San. We made our way toward the fence. We both jumped over and got to the other side. It was impressive, really, considering both of us were a little past our prime in the fitness department. I looked left, and San looked right.

  “Over there!” I heard San say.

  Without so much as a millisecond of hesitation, he and I took to the right and made headway toward our sprinting suspect. Behind the houses was nothing but construction materials and a few bushes. By the looks of it, they were demolishing an old row of terrace houses and replacing it with what looked like a giant mall. The suspect was becoming a tiny figure in the distance as he hopped over a chain-link fence and made his way into the construction yard. I decided to take a shortcut. I saw a piece of thin plywood acting as a cover for an obvious hole in the chain-link fence. I decided to hurtle all my body weight onto the fence. I smashed through it and landed on my face on the other side. The distinct taste of sand made its way into my mouth. I fucking hate mortar.

  “Are you okay?” San asked as he made his way through.

  “Don’t worry about me — get the suspect!” I shouted.

  I watched as San sprinted off in the general direction of where the suspect had gone. The problem was that the suspect had chosen to bring us into a maze of machinery and cranes. I had taken a chance in breaking through the fence a hundred yards behind the suspect, hoping I could get an advantage. But it looked as if I’d broken through the area where they kept the raw materials, so it was going to be difficult for me to get my bearings.

  San had disappeared. I was up on my feet and trying to think. I heard on my radio that the chopper had been called, and it wouldn’t be too long until they reached our location. I spotted a ladder that was propped up against a massive load of bricks. I decided to make a run for it. I reached the ladder and climbed on top of the stack of bricks. From my position, I could see San running around the construction site. It was like a maze. I was trying my best to spot the suspect. That was when I saw something in the corner of my eye. A man was hiding behind a massive blue cylinder. He saw me and burst into a run. I shouted at San.

  “To your left! He’s right there!”

  I saw San obey my command, and he started gunning for the suspect. Neither of them could see each other. They were blinded by a long row of brick pallets. I decided that I needed to take matters into my own hands. I saw that if I was to jump onto the smaller pallet of bricks below me, I could then run down a line of pallets and jump the suspect. So that was what I did. I jumped onto the first row of bricks. The impact of my jump made the pallet wobble a little. But it didn’t discourage me. I then jumped on to the first row of pallets and made my way down the line. I could feel some of the bricks slipping as I did so, but I continued. The more I ran, the closer to San I got. And then after a few seconds, I overtook him. The suspect’s silhouette was becoming clearer. I could see him running for his life. I got to the end of the pallets and jumped onto the marshy ground. I fell to one knee, but got back up as quickly as I could manage.

  San reached me and said, “Nice move.”

  But we didn’t have time for idle chitchat. We were right on his tail. We burst into action, holding our guns up toward the running man. That was when my finger hovered over the trigger. He was no more than ten feet in front of us. Rows of bricks surrounded him. He was cornered. There looked to be nowhere to run.

  “Freeze, motherfucker!” I shouted.

  The killer slowed down and slumped his head. He looked defeated and breathless, but it was hard to tell, because all we could see was his back.

  “I said, freeze!”

  He did as I asked. He slowly turned around with arms up, waving the proverbial white flag.

  I felt a sense of relief when I saw his face. It was him, well it looked like him. Just a bit deformed. A few broken teeth, and what looked like a big black eye. We had caught RANDOM RICK. I reached for my radio and gave them the good news.

  “Suspect cornered.”

  Suddenly I heard an engine roar into earshot. The killer glanced to his right, his expression looking blank yet fearful. A bulldozer came into frame and smashed through the suspect, who went flying into the stack of bricks. My jaw dropped. Santiago ran over to the downed suspect. But all I could see was a massive streak of blood where he’d been standing only seconds before.

  “Suspect down….” I found myself choking into the radio in shock.

  Sixty-One

  “Guy took it bad,” an officer said as we crouched near the downed suspect, Richard Kendrick.

  He was still alive, but barely breathing. His torso resembled an imploded pound cake. The slightest movement, and I guessed he would have disintegrated in front of us. He was coughing up blood.

  “He’s not going to make it!” Santiago huffed in distress. “Goddamn it!” he said, storming off. I could see it was affecting him. We had spent all this time trying to capture the elusive “knock knock” killer, and all we got for our trouble was a bloody streak and no justice. I knelt there, staring at our dying suspect. His internal injuries must have been massive. It was a miracle of some sorts that he was still alive. Most people would have died after such an impact. But maybe it was a curse. A few minutes of agony for his sins. By the look on his face, it looked as if the word “pain” wouldn’t even come close to describing what he was feeling.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” I heard Santiago shout at the incompetent bulldozer driver who’d cost us our day in court.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t see him,” I heard the driver say. The rest was a blur. I kind of tuned out by then. All I could hear was the suspect’s breathing as it got shallower and slower.

  “I’m not sorry for what I’ve done,” Richard said under his breath, as if only he and I were present. The rest of the world had been drowned out. It was only me and him. He had a smile on his face. A few of his teeth were missing. Blood was oozing out of his mouth, his teeth coated in crimson.

  “You don’t have to be sorry for what you did,” I whispered in his ear, leaning in a little closer.

  “You want me to be sorry. You want me to…regret what I…did,” he replied, his sentences getting strung out because of his gasping breaths.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Richard,” I said, leaning a little closer once again. “It doesn’t matter if you’re sorry. The fact of the matter is, everybody will mourn for the people you killed” —I leaned in a little more closer, my face touching his— “but no one is going to mourn for you. Nobody cares for you. The world will keep on turning. And you’ll be rotting in the ground.”

  I saw Richard’s smile fade, and a slight tinge of terror washed across his face. He was going pale.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” I said, digging my fingers in
to his arm. “You’re dying. Not long to go now. Was it worth it?”

  He attempted to nod his head and managed a barely audible “yes.”

  “I don’t believe you. I can see it in your eyes. You may not regret what you did, but you regret one thing.”

  He raised his head a little and strained. “Yeah…w…what…what’s that?” he said, his voice growing weary.

  “You regret the fact that not one single person on this earth gives a flying fuck whether you live or die.”

  His eyes widened. His face went red. His strength went. I heard his last breath. He attempted to suck in all the air he could. As he did so, I put my hand over his mouth and denied his attempt.

  “Rot in pieces, you murdering bastard,” I whispered.

  His eyes held the last remnants of fear in them as he realized he was seconds away from his maker. He died with little dignity. A tear ran down his cheek, and he pissed his pants.

  A little justice was dished out that day, albeit in its barest form. But seeing his face, seeing the fact that he knew that not one single person in his life cared for him, or gave a shit whether he lived, was justice enough for me. He died crying and soiling his pants. The death of a coward. Would that bring closure to the victims’ families? No, it wouldn’t. But I sure felt happy about it. So much so, I managed to sleep well that night. Which was strange, considering the fact that I rarely did so once we wrapped up a case, let alone one in which the killer was killed.

  There isn’t much justice in what I do. The TV shows and thriller novels most read may make you think otherwise. But I’m afraid what I do isn’t scripted. There aren’t many happy endings. The children aren’t spared. The killer sometimes walks free.

  Does that make me sad or upset at our justice system? No. Why should I be? Who am I to say what’s just and what isn’t?