After the Evil – A Jake Roberts Novel (Book 1)

by Cary Allen Stone

* * *

  Ed flipped open the cover of his notepad.

  “What have you got, I haven’t got all day, and I need a name for the reward money.”

  He wanted the guy to know he was an impatient man. The guy was weird, jittery, and nervous.

  “Not here, it’s not safe,” the man said.

  Fairchild took the call early. He got to the office before anyone else hoping to review the Abrams case file, and find a hidden clue. Sometimes, the mind will see something it saw a hundred times. All he wanted to do was help Mika. She was family, special, and that meant a lot to Ed. He didn’t want to let her down. He wanted his protégé to make it in the big time. The call came in asking for him personally. There was no one else around for backup. He had been there before, forced to deal with an obscure nobody with some hot new information. The news had broadcast little progress on the case, but mentioned the reward money was upped. The male voice on the phone gave instructions on the meeting place. He sounded sincere.

  So there was Ed standing in a parking lot, with a guy who claimed to have important information, and the guy was terrified of something, or someone. The man in his late twenties, blond hair, was concerned about his safety. Ed surveyed the deserted lot and didn’t feel the same sense of urgency.

  What’s with all of the drama?

  “Let’s go inside. I don’t want to be out here where we can be seen.”

  The mysterious man walked away leaving Ed to ponder the intrigue. Reluctantly, Ed followed him. He wasn’t at all concerned about his safety, but as an avowed homophobic, Ed had other distracting concerns about the guy. The man walked ahead of him, and opened the door to a rundown, deserted warehouse, leaving the door to slam in Ed’s face. That made him mad.

  What’s with this guy?

  Ed jerked the door open and went inside. It was pitch black, except for the blinding sunlight stream through a large window, directly across the way. Ed felt the painful, numbing voltage from the stun gun, and it took him down. That was the last thing he remembered. It had been too many years since Ed had worked the streets. He wasn’t as sharp as he used to be. The skills of the once lightning-fast, young detective had diminished during his service behind a desk. When he started to come around, he had a severe headache, and his vision was blurred. He was surprised to find himself tied to a bed and naked.

  “What the fuck?”

  He tugged at the bindings that secured his wrists and ankles. Some of what Fairchild called the devils music was playing in the background. He could barely make out any of it. The song ended and instantly went into repeat. The music irritated Ed, but it was what the guy said that held his attention. It was clear the lawman was no longer in charge. Ed watched the guy read from the identification card inside his wallet, while sitting on the bed next to him.

  “Edward Fairchild, Chief Inspector, Homicide.”

  In days past, Ed had seen some scary sights. He lived through Vietnam and saw the vicious horrors of war. He had been in more than his share of fire fights on the job. He investigated senseless, violent and gruesome murder scenes over the years, but the fear and revulsion he was experiencing now far surpassed all the others. His assailant used isolation and control, the same tactics that Ed used against suspects during interrogations. On the wrong side of it now, Ed was vulnerable. He needed to stay calm and think. While he struggled to find a way out, he believed it was going to be his last day on earth. He would never again see his wife of all those years, the children he raised, or his grandchildren. He wet the bed. Embarrassed he closed his eyes.

  “Ed.”

  The perp shook his head and scolded.

  “Look what you’ve done. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, but you should be ashamed of yourself.”

  He contemplated while he looked at Ed.

  “Actually the blood will mix with it, and your secret will be ours forever.”

  The man was visible now. Ed’s eyes and head had cleared. His dignity damaged beyond repair, he tried desperately to exhibit strength. He used the nickname given the man after the chase.

  “Are you the ‘runner’?”

  “Runner? I don’t...oh wait––I get it. That’s what you call me, from the other day. Oh, I like that––the Runner. The look of satisfaction on his face was more than telling. He was enjoying the attention. While the perp mulled over his infamous nickname, Ed took the opportunity to try to establish some kind of rapport with his captor.

  “Do you have a name?”

  “I do have another name, and you know what? I’m going to give it to you, Chief Inspector Fairchild. It’s Michael, like the archangel, and Gates, like the rich guy.”

  He got up and circled around to the foot of the bed while he spoke. Fairchild’s hunter eyes followed his every move. If there was any possible chance to get out of this Fairchild was ready to take it.

  “In fact, because I’m going to kill you Chief Inspector, I owe it to you to tell you all about me.”

  Gates stopped and thought for a moment.

  “I watched Thaddeus Abrams die.”

  Fairchild’s eyes grew wide.

  “From a closet, I watched Abrams get whacked, and I mean whacked. She cut off his dick after she stabbed him to death.”

  Gates grimaced pretending to be sickened and produced a fake shudder to highlight his supposed revulsion.

  “That crazy woman was ruthless. In the beginning, I was frightened, but then I got hard, you know––hard, Can you believe that? It was amazing.”

  The excitement in Gates’ voice sent a cold spike up Fairchild’s back. The perp appeared to be otherworldly. There was nothing in the training manuals on how to deal with this kind of psychopath. Fairchild listened, studied him, and prayed silently. As if some calming force had just fallen over him, Gates’ demented demeanor shifted. His tone dropped to an almost apologetic whisper.

  “I should probably back up a little. I was a patient of Dr. Abrams. We were lovers.”

  Fairchild’s wrists began to bleed as the bindings cut into them, but he welcomed the pain as a sign he was still alive.

  There is always a chance.

  “You were lovers?”

  “Yes Ed, lovers. Thad hated his old lady. Anna controlled the money. She dangled it over his head and made him dance like a marionette for it, so he wanted her dead. He knew that I had previous experience in that area when I came to him for counseling.”

  “He was bound by law to tell us. Why didn’t? He worked closely with the department––”

  “Ed, stop, please.”

  Gates pressed his cold index finger against Ed’s lips.

  “Don’t try to figure it out. Thad was a very complicated man. He wasn’t the man you thought he was, end of conversation.”

  The fact that Gates had touched him was sickening enough, and Fairchild wanted to throw up. Gates’ finger traced Ed’s face to his forehead. He began stroking Ed’s white hair. Fairchild tried to turn away causing Gates to stop.

  “What’s wrong Ed, afraid of the other side? Don’t be so upset, I don’t want you in that way.”

  Ed’s lips pressed tight together. All he needed was a weapon, and Gates’ miserable life would be over.

  “I don’t like that look in your eyes, Chief Inspector. Here I am spilling my heart and soul out to you and all you want to do is kill me.”

  Gates stood up and began pacing. He would stop, think, start pacing again, stop and glance at Ed again. He became agitated, and appeared to be debating what to do next.

  “Michael listen to me, this can stop right here, right now. I will do everything in my power to get help for you.”

  Gates’ outburst came like a verbal tsunami.

  “I’M NOT FINISHED TELLING THE STORY, ED! Let me finish the story.”

  Gates held his tirade for a beat then shook off his anger during a brief private conversation he had within his mind.

  “He wanted his wife dead, you see. I offered, but Thad said no way, that he wanted to keep me out of it. We ta
lked about it every time we were together. Then she entered the picture, and Thad got a major heterosexual hard on, and guess who got pushed aside.”

  Gates became more agitated. Turning toward Fairchild, he stiffened his body language. He sat back down next to him.

  “About the time he realized that she was a bad girl well, I think that’s when he lost interest in her...at least sexually. That’s when he came up with the idea to get her to kill his old lady. He said that he loved me, and after the wife was gone, the money was his, we would go away together.”

  A detective to the very end, Fairchild needed another piece of the puzzle.

  “Who is she?”

  “Lori Powers. Thad invited her over to his house that night for what he referred to as additional, required therapy. It was nothing more than a scam. He pretended to be concerned for her, and she fell for it. After she arrived, he spewed the plan about whacking his old lady.”

  Gates shrugged it off like it happened every day.

  “She was stunned he knew she was a murderer, but she stayed pretty mellow, cool. She played him like I had never seen before. I was in awe as I watched. I was supposed to stop her if she got out of control, but as I said, it was such a rush.”

  The blade glistened from the light in the room. Gates stroked it with a white cloth alternating between wiping it clean, and buffing it. Fairchild squirmed and tugged at the ropes, while Gates started pacing again. He watched Ed struggle and read his eyes.

  “Don’t fight it Ed, it’s like being in space. No one can hear you scream.”

  Stalling for time and advantage, Ed queried his captor.

  “So why this? Why me? What do you gain by killing me?”

  Gates froze in mid-step and nonchalantly looked at his victim.

  “That’s a very good question, Ed.”

  He pointed the knife directly at Fairchild and made a motion as if cutting from ear to ear. He smirked.

  “You see Ed, oh I’m sorry I never asked you if I can call you Ed. May I call you Ed, Ed? Oh never mind it’s not going to matter in a minute, or so.”

  Fairchild tried to pull hard enough to rip his hands from his wrists so he could slip out of the tie wraps. He would kill Michael Gates with the stumps that remained. His pulse rate spiked.

  “The reason you are going to be sacrificed, if you will, is because of my enormous respect for Lori. As I said, I’m in awe of her. She’s the Mistress of Murder, so beautiful, and so flawless.”

  His hopes of escaping faded as he listened to Gates’ continued ranting. Having burned up every once of energy he had left while struggling to get free, Ed lay back on the bed breathing heavily.

  “I watched her, Ed. I knew I had to emulate her. Is that the right word? I knew I needed to, if I was ever going to take her place. So I’m going to do to you what she did to all of her victims, only I’m going to get caught, then I’m going to confess to all of her murderous sins.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what, Chief?”

  “Why get caught, what does that do for you?”

  “Fame Inspector, it gives me a special place in criminal history.”

  Gates took a seat at the foot of the bed.

  “I lost the one I loved, she killed him. I have nowhere to go, no one to love, and nothing left. I am nothing. The only way I can punish her for what she took from me, is to take away her glory and fame. I’m going to steal her thunder.”

  Ed knew it was over and became sullen.

  “But, because I understand her, and because I understand the act and crave it like she does, I must defer to the high priestess so she can continue.”

  “But if you are caught, and she kills again, doesn’t that take away your fame?”

  Gates stood up and walked around the bed to Fairchild’s side. He started to stroke Fairchild’s hair again making him squirm.

  “Once I confess, she will have to go underground. Oh, she will kill again and the cycle will start all over, but no one will connect her to any of the previous murders.”

  Fairchild objected, but Gates interrupted.

  “And now, and this is going to make you very sad. I’m afraid, it’s time, Ed.”

  Michael ignored Ed’s pleas.

  “No, no, wait, I’ve got children, and grandchildren. I have a wife who loves me.”

  “If you scream, I’ll only like it more, Ed.”

  A demonic look appeared on Gates’ face. He raised the hand with the knife high over his head then brought it down hard and fast. Fairchild thrashed with everything he had left. His eyes squeezed tight, and his flush face crunched. His scream was deafening, but he didn’t feel the penetration, or the pain. A shuddering, shaking Fairchild opened his eyes to see a telephone in his face. Gates’ other hand held the knife an inch above his heart.

  “Ed, now that you know how serious I am about this, I’ve got something for you to do.”

  He waited for Fairchild’s deep breathing to slow, and wiped his forehead with the white polishing cloth.

  “Here, drink some water.”

  Gates held out a plastic bottle of water for Fairchild to drink from. At first Fairchild pulled away, but thinking it might buy some time, he leaned forward to drink. The parched feeling in his mouth and throat dissipated. His breathing was shallower, but still pronounced. He watched his assailant and his executioner closely.

  “I’m going to call your office. I want you to tell them where you are, and what is going to happen to you. I want you to tell them who I am. Tell them I am the killer. Can you do that?”

  Ed nodded and trembled, while Gates dialed the telephone. After the second ring, Fairchild’s secretary answered.

  “Chief Inspector Fairchild’s office, Wendy speaking, can I help you?”

  “I need to speak directly to someone in authority regarding Ed Fairchild’s murder.”

  “Excuse me, could you repeat that, sir?”

  “Yes, I’m about to murder your boss, Ed Fairchild, and I would like to talk to someone in charge before I do. I’ll hold, but not for very long.”

  Gates heard Wendy cover the receiver and mumble directions. He fully expected the phone line to be traced, but he didn’t care. He smiled mockingly at Fairchild as any one would when they were put on hold.

  * * *

  Wendy frantically asked if the caller was still on the line. The answer came slowly, as if it was taking every bit of his patience.

  “I’m here.”

  “Sir, Detective Blackwell will be taking your call. He’s on his way to the telephone now.”

  Wendy was frightened and shaking so severely she didn’t know if the words that she said came out correctly.

  “Thank you.”

  Michael Gates waited and watched Ed struggling against the bindings. Harmon was gruff and not at all amused when he picked up the phone.

  “This is Detective Blackwell.”

  “Harmon, Harmon Blackwell? Just can’t run like you used to, huh.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “SIR, SIR? This is Runner. According to Ed here, that’s what you call me.”

  Harmon was staggered, but recovered and dropped into his professional mode.

  “Can you prove you’re the Runner?”

  “Hum, well let’s see how many people know that nickname, or better yet, how many runners does it take to assault a pastor, or how slow is a big, dumb homicide dick? I could go on, but what’s the point? Listen, he may ramble a bit if you get my meaning. Listen closely, Harmon, because the next sounds you hear will be Ed’s last.”

  Gates smirked while holding the receiver next to Ed.

  Harmon’s hands waved in every direction for quiet. He shared the phone with Jake. They waited. A weak and exhausted voice came on the line.

  “Harmon?”

  “Ed?”

  “It’s true Harmon, the runner has got me.”

  “Ed, what the––”

  “Harmon, LISTEN TO ME.”

  Ed stared hard into Gate
s’ face.

  “The corner of Twenty-third and Delaney, brown warehouse, I don’t know any more than that.”

  “You hold on Ed, we’re on our way.”

  “LISTEN Harmon, I’ll be dead before you get here. The perp’s name is Michael Gates.”

  The phone was jerked away from Fairchild, but they could hear him shout in the background, to “Tell Lucille I love her.”

  Gates started to speak, but Harmon cut him off.

  “You touch him and I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

  Calmly, dispassionately Gates replied.

  “I’ve been waiting for someone to kill me for a very long time.”

  He placed the telephone back on the receiver. There was no mistaking the look of resignation on Ed’s face. Gates simply shook his head.

  “I’m afraid it’s time, Inspector.”

  His heart pounding out of control, Ed focused on the eyes of the man who was about to end his life. He said goodbye to his wife again, and followed that with a brief prayer for the salvation of his soul. Gates allowed him to finish the litany before he leaned over and whispered.

  “Ed, I promise I won’t rape you.”

  Ed Fairchild’s last thought was the contemplation of that final statement. His mouth opened, his face contorted, his eyes froze, and his last breath escaped.

  As he had witnessed with Abrams, Gates replicated every detail of Lori’s heinous acts although the thrusting and stabbing was far more vigorous. He cherished each penetration of the blade, until he felt the rush of an orgasm. He backed away from the bed. The victim’s genitals lay on the dead man’s abdomen. The knife protruded upward from the center of the chest. He ruthlessly proved that the blood would mix with the urine forever obscuring their secret. He kept his promise, and did not rape Edward Fairchild.

  He felt strong again. Gates knew he missed the hunt and the kill. Since he had hooked up with Abrams, he had gone dormant. Now, he was alive again. It truly was unfortunate, he thought, that it would all be over soon.

  The white cloth was dipped into Fairchild’s blood and “Ed” was written in blood on the wall. He had to leave some things behind for the “stupid cops” to tie it all together. Michael Gates, the sick, demented serial killer, calmly walked away from the warehouse and listened for the footsteps of fame to catch up with him.