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

by Cary Allen Stone

  Lori shrugged slightly.

  “This is about a bad date?”

  When Lori saw Megan’s eyes well up with tears and her lower lip quiver, she knew it was far worse. She put an arm around Megan and gave her a gentle hug. Megan stared down at her Coke. Her trembling hands rose to wipe away the tears. Lori handed her some tissues. Megan buried her face in Lori’s shoulder, and didn’t speak as the tears fell. After several minutes had passed, the story unraveled in bitter pieces.

  “I thought he was a good man, I mean, he’s an airline captain. People look up to them. How was I to know that he was evil and sick? At first, he was so kind, he helped me with my chair, and he was concerned about how I felt, listened to what I had to say. He was so polite, so caring. Then, without warning, he changed into a filthy animal.”

  Lori began to realize what Megan wasn’t able to bring herself to say. Captain Parker had taken Megan against her will.

  “Megan, are you telling me he––”

  She didn’t have to finish the question. The trauma on Megan’s face and in her eyes told the rest of the story.

  “I feel so ashamed.”

  Megan sobbed uncontrollably while trying to hide from the view of the passengers. Lori put her arms around Megan in an attempt to protect her, although she knew it was too late.

  See mommy, all men are evil,

  Megan’s face became Emily’s. Lori felt every sting and bite that her Emily had suffered all over again. She understood Megan’s trauma all too well.

  He should be punished, mommy,

  As Lori held Megan, she suppressed her anger and outrage. She maintained a calm façade. Although it burned, she was determined to keep her anger buried deep within until she could inflict it on Nick Parker. He would pay for what he had done to that child.

  “You mean this captain, the one flying this aircraft?”

  Lori asked struggling to hold back her astonishment. When she was able to Megan faced Lori

  “Please don’t say anything to anybody, and promise me.”

  The fear in her eyes was obvious.

  “He said he had friends and I could lose my job, that no one would take my word against his, because he’s a captain.”

  Lori pressed Megan’s head against her. Megan’s pleas became muffled and muted.

  “When did this happen?”

  “Last night, on the layover, please don’t tell anyone, I don’t want anyone to know, I just needed to––”

  “I won’t, I promise. Do you need any medical attention?”

  Megan shook her head no. Lori knew she would keep the promise, but she also knew that Captain Parker would never ever hurt anyone ever again.

  * * *

  Sometimes what we say can burn a hole in someone. When he puts his mouth to it, Harmon’s statements can burn down a forest. He likes to provoke a fiery reaction, be inflammatory. The verbal sparring he does is meant to stimulate ordinary, and mundane mental activity. Today isn’t any different.

  “All white people have black hearts,” Harmon says.

  “Are you referring to ancestry, biology, or character?” I say.

  “Ancestry. According to noted prominent anthropologists, mankind began in Africa. Now if you want to talk character, a case could be made,” Harmon says.

  “You think all white men have black hearts when it comes to character?” I say.

  “A case can be made.”

  Mika seldom hesitates to speak up. It’s in her nature. Besides, she can usually back him down. It’s okay for Harmon and I to have mind stimulating discussions, but Mika takes it personal.

  Harmon Blackwell, stop it. If you think I’m going to sit here, and listen to you make such a ridiculous statement then you better be prepared for a wuppin,” Mika says.

  “Did you hear that Jake? Wuppin––the white woman said wuppin. She can’t help it because she is part of the tribe.”

  “What about red men?”

  I keep the fire burning.

  “Hum, do all red men have black hearts?”

  After a quick glance at a fuming Mika, Harmon answers.

  “All colors, all men.”

  She still hasn’t told anyone she wants to quit the Feds, and maybe she won’t. She is frustrated with us.

  “There is something very wrong with you two.”

  The three of us left the house and are headed for the Abrams residence. The possibility that Gates was a copycat killer gives us cause to take another look. Maybe, in light of our new perspective, we’ll see something different. We also plan to go back to the warehouse where Ed was murdered.

  We have been to Abrams’ residence so many times even Mika knows the shortcut through the ‘hood. It gives Harmon a chance to scope out the streetwalkers. I must admit they look quite presentable today. He gives each one a friendly wave and some of the girls return a mock proposition.

  “I wonder, because of my new position, if I get a discount.”

  “Maybe now you can afford one,” Mika says.

  Across the street from the Abrams’ mansion, our Mr. Dickens is outside as usual watering, and tending to his flower garden. He doesn’t even glance at us as we turn into the driveway. That supports my theory he never saw anything on the night of the murder.

  The Abrams house looks almost forlorn with the shreds of yellow crime scene tape still fluttering in the breeze. It is midmorning, but the interior is dark. We don’t speak as we wander through the premises.

  The scent of death still lingers inside.

  * * *

  Captain Parker had noticed Lori from the open cockpit door. He remarked loud enough to make his first officer jerk his head up from his paperwork to see her. Both watched as she introduced herself to the other flight attendants.

  There wasn’t enough time for her to enter the cockpit and say hello, as boarding began right after, and passengers obstructed her path.

  Parker confidently spoke.

  “It’s a long layover in Boston, she’ll need a guide.”

  “Didn’t you bang Megan last night?”

  “Of course, but I have an insatiable sexual appetite, and I liked to eat out.”

  He grinned while staring down the cabin aisle at Lori.

  “She looks like a gourmet meal to me.”

  His copilot grinned at Parker’s blustering. He knew that some captains’ egos didn’t stop in the cockpit. Some needed the world to believe all women desired them. Nick Parker was one of them.

  Parker finally lost sight of Lori and returned to his cockpit preparations. While Lori occupied his thoughts, he also planned for a backup just in case.

  I’ll take another turn with sweet little Megan.

  “Is twenty-six thousand still good on the fuel?”

  Parker said the fuel request was correct then he continued with his fantasy about Lori, only he added Megan in on the outside chance of a threesome. Benjamin poked his head in and asked if either pilot needed anything.

  “A shapely blonde with great legs for me,” Parker said.

  “A Coke for me,” the first officer said.

  Both he and Benjamin had long since learned to ignore Captain Parker’s ramblings. After Benjamin left to retrieve the Coke, the copilot chided his captain.

  “Didn’t you just get married?”

  Parker ignored him. He didn’t like to be interrupted in the middle of his fantasies. Because the question was raised, he thought about his recent marriage to Susan. In his own way, he wanted her. She had a great body and she was always anxious to please him. He saw her as backup. He would have her if he failed elsewhere. She also had a seven-year-old daughter from a previous disastrous marriage. He coveted the little girl more than he coveted her mother. He had absolutely no illusions about who he was as a person. He was a good provider, but only did what was necessary and required to accommodate his own self-serving desires and interests.

  By nature, he was callous, biting and crude. His lack of respect for women was surpassed only by the size of his ego. Pa
rker believed it was his responsibility to enlighten all women in deviant sexual practices, especially those never before touched. Even while he plotted a rendezvous with Lori later that evening, he stored a thought in the back of his mind for when he returned home.

  Little Wendy is about ready for a lesson.

  He never sought help for his sickness because he never once thought he had a sexually deviant personality. After all, he thought, the good guys had bad sides too.

  * * *

  It has always been my fervent hope that someday, with the help of genetic research, scientists would be able to tighten some of the loose screws walking among us. Of course, that would end my career, but it would be worth it.

  I get down on my knees and look under the bed, beneath where the slaughter took place. I dig through dresser drawers, but only find the same stuff that was there when I last searched the residence. It has collected more dust, but that’s about it.

  “Harmon, help me move the bed over a few feet, it’s too heavy for one guy.”

  He walks over and places one of his huge hands on the frame, while I struggle with both hands. The bed shifts toward the far wall. The light from the bedroom window illuminates the carpet underneath the bed.

  “Did any of the techs move the bed?” Harmon says.

  “No, I don’t believe so,” Mika said.

  She pulls clothing out of the wash basket in the hall.

  “I don’t think they were in here either. You know how techs are, if it isn’t lying in plain sight, they don’t bother.”

  With my face inches from it, I search the sunlit exposed carpet for hairs, and other fibers. The nauseating smell of death permeates the bedroom. It’s distracting even to a seasoned professional like me. I don’t see anything.

  “Where do you guys stand on the high IQ versus criminally insane question?” Harmon says.

  “I’ve never been accused of being either. Gates had a high IQ. Are you asking if he was over the edge, or sane?” I say.

  “Put me down for insane, there’s no doubt in my mind. You can’t do something like he did to Ed without having screws loose,” Harmon says.

  “To commit such acts suggests insanity, right? And to be able to elude the heat as long as he supposedly did suggests above average intelligence,” Mika says.

  Harmon and I exchange looks.

  “I guess what I want to know is, was Gates that good?” Mika says.

  She stops digging through the basket and looks at the two of us.

  “Or was he just incredibly lucky?”

  This time Harmon and I exchange shrugs. I offer up some background for the discussion.

  “When I had him in interrogation, he seemed as normal and sane as Harmon here. That was the eerie part for me. He spoke calmly, clearly, and detailed. He became defensive at times, but was in control of his thoughts.”

  “Calm, clear and detailed right up until he grabbed the weapon and shot the officer. He had to be insane to think he could get away with that inside the house,” she says.

  “But he was sane enough to know it would end someday, and he chose suicide by cop.”

  That is the total of my two cents.

  “I’m not talking about what method he chose to die. He decided that as well. It’s more, why did he want it to end? He was on top. It doesn’t make any sense, unless he really wasn’t the one.”

  While I enjoy the challenging conversation, I think we’re wasting our time.

  “Well that’s why we’re here, to see if we can prove it one way, or another, but I don’t see anything that’s going to help this case. Theory and speculation isn’t going to be enough.”

  Mika steps into the walk in closet and starts pulling things apart. She apparently sees no reason to preserve the crime scene any longer and no one in their right mind is going to occupy that room again until the professional cleaners come through.

  “I’m going to take a walk outside and get some fresh air. I hate the smell in here,” Harmon says.

  He gets as far as the door.

  “As Chief, I need to call in to see how everything is going back at the house. I’ll be back.”

  “Okay, Arnold.”

  He’s not the only one who wants out. This is just one more in a series of futile examinations of this crime scene. I also have to do my duty, while on duty.

  “I’ll be in the men’s room.”

  “I’m almost done here. We can head over to the warehouse when you both get back,” Mika says.

  I stop to peek around the corner at her before I hit the head. She looks back, smiles and makes a gesture that suggests we will escape for a quiet evening later.

  Abrams’ bathroom is overly ornate. I hate this kind of excessive décor. It’s overdone, tacky, and a waste of hard-earned money. If you have, so much money that you do this to a bathroom then it needs to be reapportioned to those who could use the money just to survive. It warms me to know I am about to relieve myself in this ostentatious room. I think the gentile thing to do is to run some water to disguise my running water. As I reach over to open the faucet, my eyes shift across the floor, past the shower, over to the counter, and finally to the faucet. With an easy grip, I go about my business. I desperately want to pea on a wall or something. Dogs are good at that. I look back at the loose drain cover. Something about it won’t let go of me. Finally finished, I replace my best friend. I walk over and step lightly into the shower stall enclosure of marble and glass to take a closer look at it.

  There, in the middle of the shower floor it’s almost centered, but not completely. Stooping down, I take out the pencil I carry for just such occasions. I poke at the cover and find that one of the two screws that hold the cover in place is missing. It moves easily pivoting on the other screw. Out of my other pocket comes my mini-flashlight. One click and the drainpipes illuminated. I look, as far down as I can, but I don’t see anything. The voice of an old friend of mine from Jersey echoes in my head. The accent is heavy and says––Forgetaboutit. As I stand and begin to walk away, something nudges me, my instincts maybe, or possibly my angel is telling me to probe deeper. It is probably nothing, but I march back to the drain for another look. If I didn’t, it would bother me until I did.

  My pencil slides the cover back and forth then I hear it. I think I hear it. I slide the cover back and forth. I hear it again. With every bit of self-control I can muster, I move it one more time. It tinkles. On the back of my mini-light is a screwdriver that rotates between a Phillips head and a straight edge. I use the Phillips end to unfasten the remaining screw holding the cover and gently lift it up. In the light from the bathroom window, and my flashlight, I see what looks like a small charm dangling from a chain. I hold it up to the light.

  On the charm is an engraved name––Emily.

  * * *

  Logan International was a busy, high-traffic-density airport. International flights were in and out of there constantly. It was also one of the airports that a 9-1-1 hijacked aircraft left from, before flying into one of the World Trade Center towers. The security camera replay of the hijackers nonchalantly walking through security was burned into every American’s memory.

  Captain Nick Parker touched down smoothly on runway 4R and taxied to his assigned gate at the expansive terminal. He may have been a lowlife, but the man could fly. It was the last flight of the day for the crew. They deplaned and piled into the hotel van that would take them to the Marriott. Megan sat as far from Parker as she could. They didn’t exchange eye contact the entire time, although Parker watched for an opening. He spent the rest of the ride clandestinely eyeing Lori. She could feel it. Although she had originally agreed to meet with Megan for dinner Lori cancelled at the last minute claiming fatigue. In fact, she had other plans. Lori spent the time in the van from the airport to the hotel trying to come up with an excuse to meet with Parker. By the time she walked into her hotel room, she was still trying to come up with something, anything to get to him. As she started to settle in, the telephone rang.
It was Parker. She was disappointed she simply didn’t rely on his predictability.

  Lori knew all too well how to play the role and she sang her greeting into the phone adding the proper measure of seductiveness.

  “Hello?”

  “Lori Powers?”

  “Yes?”

  She abhorred everything about him, particularly his voice, but Parker absolutely loved the intoxication of hers. He quickly shifted into his persistent mode and burrowed ahead not giving her a chance to speak.

  “Hi, it’s Nick, the captain. I didn’t get a chance to meet you on the aircraft because of the brief turnaround time and the early boarding. And of course the hotel van was so crowded, so I thought I’d call and say hello.”

  “Well hello, Captain Parker.”

  They’re all the same, mommy.

  “Anyway I was wondering if you had any plans for the rest of the evening. I thought it would only be polite to offer dinner. There’s a restaurant nearby called Legal Seafood. It’s a great place, the best if you like seafood.”

  “I love seafood.”

  Lori cooed back. When she was done with him, he would be fish food. She laughed to herself when she pictured the fishhook and line dangling from his mouth.

  “I’ll take that as a yes?”

  “I’d love to go. Did you get anyone else from the crew to go with us?”

  That was the last thing he wanted, unless he had a chance to fulfill his fantasy of seducing worldly Lori and baby Megan, but he knew that was a long shot. He did find it fascinating he was forsaking the younger, tasty Megan morsel for the somewhat leftover Lori buffet.

  “You’re the first. If you like, I can make you the last.”

  All she had to do was reel him in. She needed to keep Parker in his room. It would be the appropriate setting to make him pay for what he had done to Megan. It was the perfect place for Captain Nicholas Parker to go down in flames.

  “That works for me, captain.”

  “Nick, please.”

  * * *

  Mika couldn’t resist asking about Lori. It wasn’t the time, or place, for such a question, especially when I had in my hand what I hoped was a solid lead. All three of us were jogging back to the car. We needed to find out if Thaddeus Abrams knew an Emily.