Breaking Point_Kindle Serial

by Aric Davis

  “Mr. Emerson, who do you think would hurt your wife?” Van Endel asked the question slowly, not to calm the man, but to coax an answer from him as easily as possible.

  “That asshole she left me over,” said Matt. “He got her on drugs, he took her from us. The guy is a piece of crap, and you need to find him—”

  “Mr. Emerson, is the man you’re talking about named Fred Storch?” Van Endel asked. Matt nodded in response, and Nelson edged his way back into the conversation. “Mr. Emerson, I’m sorry to tell you this, but your wife and Mr. Storch were found dead this morning. Our lab is still working on time of death, but they have it pegged at sometime before midnight last night.”

  “Overdose. I knew it.”

  “No,” said Van Endel, “murdered. Someone killed them and emptied the safe at the store. I hate to ask you this, Mr. Emerson, but do you have an alibi for last night?”

  “I was home with my kids,” said Matt, realization of the true nature of the question breaking across his face. “You think I could have done this?” He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I love that woman, even after what she put us through. I was still defending what she was doing to my kids, and even as little as they are, even they could tell what a horrible mother she was being.” Matt looked broken, ruined by the realization that this was really happening to him. “I think I was the only one left who thought she might turn it around and come back to us.”

  “Mr. Emerson, can you think of anyone who might want to hurt your wife?” Van Endel asked, hoping he wasn’t pissing off Nelson by talking too much, but not really caring either way.

  “No,” said Matt. “I mean, honestly, my folks were pissed at her, her folks were pissed at her, I was pissed at her. But we were mad because we were worried. Sharon had become a totally different person in the last few months. She changed, and now I know she’s not going to change back.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Detective. To answer your question, no, I can’t think of anyone who would have wanted to kill her.” Van Endel could all but see the lightbulb appear over the man’s head. “Wait. Could this be connected to those shootings that have been all over the news?”

  “That’s a possibility,” said Nelson, “one that is being looked into currently. We just wanted to have a face-to-face with you. After all—”

  “I know how this must look. I’ll do whatever I can to prove that I had nothing to do with this.”

  “Would you be willing to come down to the station with us so we can administer a blood test?” Van Endel asked. “We wouldn’t be placing you under arrest, but complying now could go a long way toward how we look at you for this. Do you understand?”

  “If you can clear it with my boss, I’ll do whatever you want,” said Emerson. “I got in some hot water last week over missed days, and I need this paycheck.”

  “Why were you missing work, Mr. Emerson?”

  “My daughter was sick,” said Matt. “I could have dropped her off at my mom’s, but she wanted to spend time with me. I think it was more about missing her family than it was about her having the sniffles. I couldn’t say no. Not like I can tell the guys here that. I’d rather take a few lumps in an office than on the floor.”

  “I’m going to talk to your boss,” said Nelson. He was back in the office a few minutes later. “Let’s go.”

  Ken hated leaving the TV behind. He’d finally gotten the thing hooked up and the rabbit ears dialed into the local NBC affiliate, and then realized it was time to get to work. It was a shame too — all they were talking about was the grocery store, and the crime spree of the past few days. They were talking about him. The excitement of it made Ken almost forget how terrible the weekend was going to be once Paula dropped off the kids.

  Tim and Lisa, Ken’s sullen teenagers, who respected him about as much as a dog respects a fire hydrant. It was going to be hell having them in the house, and the only way around it would be to kill them and their mother before the weekend started. With only a few minutes left to get dressed for work, and then only a half hour afterward before he was to have the little shits dropped off at the apartment, he didn’t have a whole lot of options.

  Ken walked to his bedroom, the TV barking about the manhunt that was supposedly happening all around him. All Ken had seen of the so-called manhunt was two detectives who had stared him in the face and seen nothing but innocence. If only the kids were as easy.

  Ken dressed quickly, noting as he did that the state of the house was already starting to erode. He’d been apathetic about cleaning for only a day or so, but apparently that was all it took for the mess to start piling up. Ken pulled on a shirt that would most likely pass muster for Mr. Everett and then slid his work shoes on. He tied the shoes while he sat on his bed, and then stood. He felt pretty good. Not as good as he would when the kids were gone, or as amazing as he would feel when the kids and Paula were really gone, but still pretty good. He left the bedroom and walked back to the TV, crossing from the dining room to the thing and turning the knob before he could become entranced by it again. It was time to go to work.

  Ken lived close enough to walk to work, but he didn’t want anyone to know where he lived. That had been something he was sure of before he’d even gone shooting the first time; now he was doubly sure. He started up the Omni. She was ugly but oddly reliable for an old and rough-looking car, even if she was wearing more rust than paint. He pulled off onto the main drag, the Golden Arches growing quickly in the windshield. He sighed and rubbed the magic bullet through his pants. Living this boring life was the price he had to pay for being a man capable of anything.

  Ken parked in the McDonald’s lot. Half of the spaces were full, and the drive-thru line stretched around the building. This was going to be bad. He tried to recall who else was on the schedule, but drew a blank past being aware that Mr. Everett and T. J. would be there. Ken got out, stretched his legs out of habit, and tried to forget about the almost $8,000 still at home. It didn’t work. No matter how much he knew he needed to be at work, his brain insisted that he was fine on money and should therefore be able to piss it away until he needed a job again. The job was more than that now — it was a necessary camouflage.

  Ken yanked the door open and strode inside. The lobby was packed, and at first he was confused. The similar ages of many of the patrons brought a bemused smile to his face. Must be a school bus out back, maybe even a couple of them.

  Ken walked into the busy kitchen. Mr. Everett was still nowhere to be seen; normally on a rush like this, he would have been out front helping. Ken walked to the office, punched in at the time clock, and then tied on an apron and went to the kitchen to see where he could help. The scene at the back of the building stopped him dead in his tracks. Mr. Everett was standing over T. J., who had his arm elbow-deep in the grease trap.

  “Where were you, Ken?” Mr. Everett asked, his voice stressed and cracking. “I’ve been calling for hours.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Everett,” said Ken. “I was out running errands, and I knew I had time because I wasn’t supposed to be in until one o’clock. I’m sorry if I missed a call, but I’ve been working a ton and I really needed to get some errands done before the weekend.”

  “I understand, Ken, and I’m sorry,” said Mr. Everett. “Can you take over for T. J.? You’ve always had a knack for this stuff, and we’re up a creek right now with all these guests.”

  “Yeah,” said T. J., pulling his arm from the filthy thing. His eyes were almost solid red from dope smoke. “I suck at this, and we need me on the grill.” T. J. stood and sauntered off. Black goop was dripping from his arm.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” said Mr. Everett. “You work hard, and I’m putting you in a bad spot, but I need this done right away, Ken.” Mr. Everett clapped him on the shoulder, and for the first time ever, Ken noticed that T. J. and Ron weren’t the only guys walking around with blazed eyes. Mr. Everett looked like he might have been partaking in a little Mary Jane out back with a couple of the employees. N
ot sure how, when, or even if he could ever use such knowledge as a bargaining chip, Ken settled onto the floor. He didn’t want to fix the grease trap, but he’d done it before and knew what to do. The stench assaulted him before he even got to work, but that was just part of the job, and some jobs are worse than others, even in fast food.

  “Here’s what we got, said Tracy. “Pardon my French, but this is the indisputable shit; I am one hundred percent on all of this stuff. So feel free to ask me how or why, but don’t tell me something doesn’t make sense to you, or that I can’t be right. Science doesn’t lie, and I don’t care if this messes up one of your theories.”

  “You don’t talk like this when Lorne is around,” said Nelson. “He still catching a few winks?”

  “No clue,” said Tracy. “I just know that he’s my boss and that he told me to do my job and keep the detectives and his boss happy. So that’s what I’m trying to do. I must say, by the way, I’m doing a darn good job of it.”

  “We’ll decide that, Tracy,” said Nelson, feigning annoyance. “Now, c’mon, you can tell how grumpy my dickhead partner is getting — tell us what you know.”

  “Yeah,” said Van Endel, “I’m super pissed right now. Make with the information.” He turned to Nelson. “Am I doing it right?” Nelson nodded sternly, and Van Endel returned the look.

  “All right, if y’all are done fucking around, here’s what we got,” said Tracy. “Ballistics are a straight match for every bullet recovered from the McDonald’s and the Ace Hardware shootings. No question there, this was the same guy. I’m sure none of that is too surprising for you fellas, but it does rule out the idea that this one is different than the others. Questions?” Van Endel and Nelson shook their heads. “Well, that brings us to the next order of business, semen samples and blood types. Nelson, I know you are particularly interested in flavor, and I have set aside samples accordingly.”

  “Tracy…”

  “All right, I kid, I kid. Anyways, the blood type of the semen in the condom is O-positive, the semen on the leg is A-positive, and Mr. Emerson’s blood came back as O-positive.”

  “Wait, hold on,” said Nelson, pointing his finger like a gun at Tracy. “Are you telling me that Emerson put his come in that guy’s condom?”

  “Jesus, Phil,” said Van Endel, as Nelson and Tracy erupted in laughter. Van Endel checked his watch and waited for the storm to subside. It didn’t take too long.

  “OK,” said Tracy, rubbing his eyes. “All right, I’m good. Assuming that Nelson isn’t correct on his wonderful assessment, we can rule out the husband. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear it.”

  “Amen,” said Nelson. “Anything else?”

  “Not much,” said Tracy. “I fully expect to see positive drug-toxicity screens come back for both of them, but I’m not sure that matters. I really don’t see them inviting a third party in to help them rob the place while they were getting it on.”

  “That does seem like a stretch,” said Van Endel. “There is something else that bugs me, though. You’re certain that semen on her leg was the A-positive stuff?”

  “Yup.”

  “All right,” said Van Endel, “and you’re positive that there was no evidence of rape in any of the other cases?”

  “Positive,” said Tracy. “I insisted on a full cavity swab for all involved, even with the lack of evidence that anything like that had occurred. I mean, there wasn’t time like he had for this one, and no one was stripped.”

  “Sounds like our little lad is growing up,” said Nelson.

  Ken staggered to his car from the restaurant. The day had been hell, and that was where his head was at — hell. He drove home slowly, feeling like he was still cleaning the grease trap. He could certainly still smell the rank fumes on himself, and that was after cleaning up. If that wasn’t bad enough, he’d prepared food for the last two hours of his shift, and even the familiar smell of fried meat wasn’t wafting off him. There was no way he still actually stunk, but the smell remained regardless.

  Ken parked and got out of the car, then walked up the steps to the apartment. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, then put it back. That was all he needed, Paula calling his parole officer because she could smell beer on his breath when it was his turn to have the kids. That would be bad for parole, and in family court, it just wasn’t worth the risk.

  Those things don’t have to matter. The thought came to Ken from some impossible place. He ran his hand over the magic bullet in his pocket and walked to the bedroom. He got the revolver and the bag of bullets, then sat at the table and loaded the gun. He set the revolver next to the bag of bullets and then pulled the magic bullet from his pocket. That one he set standing upright next to the revolver, and then he grabbed the phone. He spun in Paula’s number and listened as the phone began to ring.

  “Hello,” she said, not annoyed yet. After all, she couldn’t know it was him, at least not yet.

  “Hey,” said Ken. “Are we still on for me to pick up the kids tonight?”

  “Yes,” said Paula. “We’ve been over that twice already this week, Ken. You get the kids every other weekend, you did not have them last weekend. Pretty simple, right?”

  “Yeah, I know, I was just—”

  “Besides,” said Paula, talking over him like usual, “Robert and I are leaving this weekend.” She paused. “You didn’t really buy those Tigers tickets you were talking about, did you? I hate to tell you this, but I’m sorry if you did — it’s your turn for the kids. Robert and I are going to Stratford to take in a Gilbert and Sullivan. That’s a play, in case you were wondering. Are you going to pick them up?”

  “Well, yeah,” said Ken, “and I didn’t buy those tickets — that wouldn’t be fair. I was wondering, though, could you meet me somewhere with them?”

  “Which is it, Ken?” Paula asked with a heavy sigh.

  “Huh?”

  “I said, which is it? Are we meeting up or are you picking them up?”

  “Uh, I guess I was hoping we could meet up,” said Ken. “I wanted to take the kids out to get some dinner, and I thought maybe you could meet me at the restaurant.”

  “You want to take the kids out to eat and you want me to meet you at a restaurant?” Paula asked, and then immediately answered her own question. “Are you going crazy? Why do I have to meet you? If you want to take them out, that’s fine, but you can pick them up from the house. Seriously, is everything OK with you?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” said Ken. “I’m all set. I just wasn’t thinking, I guess. I don’t know. I want to talk to you, I wanted to see you. I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

  “You don’t need to see me, Ken,” said Paula matter-of-factly. “You need to stay sober, keep your job, and pick up your kids as soon as possible. Robert and I have an early morning tomorrow, and we have to get on the road. Come get Tim and Lisa, all right? That’s all you need to do, just come get your kids.”

  “All right,” said Ken. “I will. Hey I’m really sorry about…” Ken stopped himself. She’d already hung up. Ken grabbed the gun and the bag with the bullets, then stuffed the magic bullet into his pants pocket. He thought of what to do; what he wanted was to go to their house and kill them. Barring that, he wanted to go somewhere else and kill. That wasn’t an option either; the sun had hours left. This wasn’t like the McDonald’s. People were looking for him now, watching for strange loners, and the Omni was certainly memorable. If he were to go hunting, it would have to be at night. He slid the gun and bag of bullets into the hiding spot under his bed, then left his room. He walked out the front door, locked it behind him, and then stopped dead in his tracks. What if the Omni doesn’t start?

  Ken unlocked the apartment’s door and walked back inside. He retrieved the gun and the sack of bullets from the bedroom, then slid the revolver into his right front pants pocket, a handful of bullets into the left one. He sat at the table and stared at the clock over the oven. When five minutes had passed, he picked the handset off the phone and
dialed Paula. She answered on the first ring.

  “Hello?” She was still irritated, he could hear it in her voice. Good.

  “It’s me again,” said Ken. “I’ve got a problem.”

  “Criminy, Ken,” said Paula. “What now?”

  “My car won’t start,” said Ken. “So if you want me to take the kids so you and Robert can go away, you’re going to have to drop them off to me.”

  “You are so pathetic,” said Paula, not an ounce of sympathy in her voice. “Truly, truly pathetic. Fine. We’ll leave in a few minutes.” She paused, and Ken could hear someone else talking. “Robert says he’s coming too, so if you’re planning anything cute, you can just forget about it.”

  “Meet me at the McDonald’s,” said Ken. “That way, the kids will only have to walk one way.”

  “All right,” said Paula. “Please be there when we arrive. If you recall, there are other people on the planet besides you.” Ken could hear her continue to talk as she took the phone from her head to hang it up. “Impotent, worthless, assho—” The phone went dead.

  Ken ran his hand over the revolver in his pocket, and then over the magic bullet. This might be the end. It’s going to be hard to get away in the daylight, especially on foot. He smiled. The thought of Paula with a bullet in her head was worth the risk. Anything was worth that risk.

  Nelson drove and ate Dairy Queen french fries, Van Endel stared out the window. After they’d gotten the news about blood types from Tracy, the hunt was back on. They were canvassing every retail store and restaurant they could find in the area, trying not to let desperation come through in their questions, trying to sound like everything was under control. Neither of them could have felt less so. Eleven bodies in just a few days’ time, no suspects collared, no significant leads. Things couldn’t be much worse.

  One growing trend that both men had noticed was the number of store owners and managers patting their jackets and waistlines where guns were concealed. It would have been illegal anywhere outside the buildings the men worked in, but as long as they stayed on the property they owned, leased, or were hired to run, it was fine. Seeing all that hidden-away heat made Van Endel think of the Wild West, and not in a good way. Owning a gun didn’t make one proficient with a gun, and if two men were shooting at each other, the chances of something even worse happening were possible. Still, Van Endel understood the behavior. A man was picking places, seemingly at random, either to rob violently or with the express purpose of killing. Tracy had found semen from what had to be their guy as well, and that meant there could even be a third motivator. None of it added up to good, and Van Endel was just glad their day was over.