A Trace of Revenge

by Lyle Howard

  “Who the hell are you?” He demanded.

  Lauren reached into her pocket and pulled out her credentials. “I’m sorry to have startled you, Mr. Walker. I’m detective King from the Jacksonville Police Department.”

  The old man set the bags of groceries down on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. “Startled is too understated.” He muttered. “I saw the car in the driveway, but I thought it might belong to a friend of my grandson. I guess I was just optimistic. The kid doesn’t have any friends.”

  It felt like the temperature had dropped thirty degrees inside the house since the old man had shuffled in. The hostility in the air was palpable. “I’ve been having a lovely conversation with your grandson, Matt.”

  “A conversation?” He asked over his shoulder, as he opened up the refrigerator and began stocking the groceries. “You speak his language?”

  “Your grandson is quite adept at reading lips. We’ve had no problems communicating.”

  “What do you want with him? He do something wrong?”

  Lauren shook her head. “No, not at all. The Jacksonville P.D. is working on a recent case, and in the process, we noticed a few similarities between our current case and your son’s death in Miami back in two thousand and five.”

  The old man noticeably stiffened up with a jar of pickles in his hand. “The boy doesn’t know nothing about that night. He won’t be able to help you. I’m sorry you wasted your time coming out here.”

  The detective took a few steps towards the kitchen. “On the contrary, Mr. Walker. Your grandson seems to remember quite a lot from that night.”

  David Walker slowly turned with the pickle jar still in his hand and closed the refrigerator with his elbow. He walked over to the counter and placed the jar down and feigned a smile. “I’m really sorry, detective, but whatever Matthew has told you isn’t worth a hill of beans. The boy’s skull was crushed, and he suffered irreparable brain damage. I wouldn’t put much credibility in anything he says. The boy is prone to flights of fancy. Ever since his grandmother passed away, he’s been acting out and craving attention. That’s why I thought he had done something wrong. Now if you don’t mind, I would kindly ask you to leave us alone.”

  The lights throughout the house began blinking.

  “Sure, let’s throw a party!” The old man grunted in exasperation.

  “I’m really sorry for this intrusion, Mr. Walker, but I’ve also asked one of my colleagues to join us. He should be here any minute now.”

  “I don’t think that my grandson is going to be of any use to you. You can see what’s happened to him. He was an energetic, joyful child, with a wonderful life ahead of him. Now he’s stuck in a world of silence. He has no future.”

  Lauren looked at the old man incredulously. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

  Walker looked at her sternly. “I can’t even hold a normal conversation with my grandson, detective, and I’m too old to learn a new language now. While I was out trying to keep bread on our table, my wife took care raising the boy. Now that she’s gone, the boy and I have nothing much in common.”

  Lauren put her hand on her heart. “Mr. Walker, forgive me for being so direct,” she apologized, “but Matt seems to be an exceptional young man. I’m willing to bet he can accomplish anything he sets his mind to. If anything, his hearing loss might motivate him even more. You need to give him a chance. He might just surprise you.”

  The elder Walker’s hands clenched in and out of fists. “You just met my grandson, detective. You don’t know the first thing about him. Excuse me for being so direct, but you need to leave us the hell alone.”

  Lauren shook her head. “This is technically a police investigation, and your grandson is of consenting age, but if you would rather we speak with him off of your premises that can be arranged.”

  Matt Walker came bounding down the stairs as the lights in the living room continued to blink. He waved his grandfather away and went to answer the front door. The blinking lights signaled that someone was pressing the doorbell.

  Matthew opened the door and greeted Toby with a firm handshake. “I’m Matt,” he said, in the distorted English that made his grandfather look down at the floor in shame.

  The teen took a step back in surprise as Toby began to sign to him. “My name is Toby Bilston,” he signed, spelling out his name one letter at a time.

  “You know sign language?” Matt signed excitedly.

  “I’m no expert,” Toby replied back, “but my son wanted to learn how to sign, so we took a few classes together at Flagler College. It was a good father and son bonding moment.”

  Matt reached out and patted Toby on the shoulder. “Please come in.”

  It was pleasantly cool in the house, but as usual, Toby was sweating through his shirt. The handle of the leather satchel he carried was stained dark from the moisture of his palm. The doctor was a walking poster boy for climate change. He pulled out his handkerchief before walking over and shaking David Walker’s hand. “Hello…Toby Bilston, head of the JPD forensics department.”

  The old man grudgingly accepted Toby’s greeting. “Expecting anyone else?” He asked sarcastically.

  Toby wiped his beard and scalp. “I don’t think so. Are we detective?”

  Lauren shook her head. “Just the four of us.”

  David Walker waved to get his grandson’s attention. “You okay with all of this?”

  Matt nodded affirmatively.

  The old man stood face to face with his grandson and spoke patronizingly slow. “You want me to stay? I think I should stay.”

  Matt shook his head. “I’ll be fine. You’ve had a long day. Go upstairs and rest and I will take care of dinner.”

  The elder Walker nodded as he headed for the stairs forgetting the lone pickle jar still sitting on the counter. He paused and looked directly back at his grandson. “If you need me, you know where I’ll be.”

  Matt nodded. “No worries grandpa. I’ll be fine.”

  The old man climbed the stairs and two out of the three people that remained downstairs, heard a door slam shut. One was acutely aware of the vibration.

  “He’s always been a tough guy, but ever since my grandma passed away unexpectedly, he hasn’t been the same. I think he’s given up.” Matthew signed, and Toby interpreted as best as he could for Lauren.

  “How long were they married?” Lauren asked.

  Matt made a d-shape with his right hand next to his temple then moved it in a circle and changed it into a y-shape and pushed it away from his face.

  “Forever and ever,” Toby translated for Lauren.

  Toby took a seat on the couch, placed his bag by his feet and patted the seat for Lauren to join him. Matthew sat across from them.

  The first thing Toby noticed was that the soft table that separated them had a sheet of thin glass covering it. Between the glass and the wood was filled with old family photos. Toby studied the pictures like a time capsule. There were black and white pictures of family that easily dated back fifty years or more. This was a treasure trove of Walker history, and Toby studied each picture meticulously to glean as much as he could about this family’s background. Toby tapped on one image in particular, a family photo taken by a swimming pool. He recognized the beach behind the family. Miami Beach. “Is this you?” Toby signed, tapping on a grinning four-year-old peeking out from behind a young woman’s leg.

  “That’s me,” Matthew spoke.

  “Your mother?”

  Matthew leaned over and began to identify the people in the picture. “My father, mother, grandma, grandpa and some friends of my parents.”

  Toby brushed his finger across the photo. “So this is your family, and these are the family friends?”

  “Yes. Mr. and Mrs. Jannick and their daughter, Hope. Mr. Jannick worked with my father, and our
families were very close. I still chat with Hope from time to time.”

  Toby looked up. “Mr. Jannick worked with your father at Mason Cruise Lines?”

  Matt nodded. “He still works for Mr. Mason. I think he’s still got a pretty important position, but I don’t know for sure. I haven’t seen them since I moved to Jacksonville.”

  Toby moved his finger to another photo, and Lauren leaned in close. “This is your parent’s wedding photograph?”

  Matthew sat back in his chair and stared into the kitchen. He remained silent. When he turned back to the policemen, Lauren was looking right at him. “They made a beautiful couple.”

  Matt frowned. “This table was something that my grandma used to keep her memories alive. Personally, I think setting a can of Pepsi down on my parent’s wedding photo seems pretty rude. I never said it to her though. It worked for her, so that’s all that mattered.”

  Toby signed to Matt. “So what do you remember about your mother and father?”

  “This isn’t going to turn into a shrink session, is it?” Matt signed furiously. “I don’t want my head examined. You may not like what you find.”

  Toby shook his head, as Lauren placed her hand on his knee and squeezed gently. “I’m not that kind of doctor, Matt. I was just asking to learn more about you. Detective King said you might be able to help us with a case we’re working on, and I just wanted to learn more about your background. I am sorry if I trespassed. That was not my intention.”

  Matt reached out his hand to Toby which the Doctor assumed was a gesture of forgiveness. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Before Lauren could reach out and prevent the contact, Toby could feel the energy pulse up his arm and fill his entire being. Matt locked eyes with the Doctor and noticeably stiffened in his chair. The warmth flowed through his hand and into Toby Bilston, returning with a flood of images from Toby’s past. Matt’s breathing nearly stopped while Toby appeared to be panting and straining to catch his breath. Lauren tried to break the bond, but she didn’t have the strength. It felt like the two hands had mutated into a single limb.

  Less than a minute had passed when Matt finally released his grip.

  “What the hell was that?” Toby said, falling limply backward on the couch and massaging his hand. “What did you just do to me?”

  Matt sat back in his chair and looked at Lauren. “He is a good man, a family man. He loves his wife and children.”

  Lauren nodded slowly. “I said, you can trust him.”

  Toby leaned forward. “Hello? I’m sitting right here! Pretty large guy. Hard to miss.”

  Matt’s focus slowly swiveled toward Toby. He looked almost robotic the way his head methodically pivoted. “Your son is the center of your life. That’s good. He cherishes the time you spend together.”

  “How do you know my son?” Toby signed.

  “I don’t know him,” Matt paused. “I know you.”

  Toby looked at Lauren who smiled slightly. “Would one of you please tell me what the hell is going on here?”

  Matt spoke quickly in the purest voice he could muster. “You were born and raised in Florida. Bullied as a child because of your size. You had a fight in a playground and came home bruised and covered in dirt. You wouldn’t let your mother go to the school to complain. Your father taught you how to defend yourself. You’ve never used the skills he taught you. You decided your brain was more powerful than your fists. You grew a hard shell, a sharp sense of humor to protect you from the humiliation. You laughed it off. It kept you focused on what matters the most to you. Perseverance. The ability to keep going until you find what you are looking for. People must earn your trust; it is not something you give away freely. Your parents live together in an assisted living facility. You visit them often. You still go to them for advice. There is a male nurse there that you trust very much. You slip him cash on the side to look after them.”

  Toby stood up forcefully. “Enough! I don’t know what Detective King has told you about me, but this stops now!”

  Lauren reached up and pulled on Toby’s arm for him to sit back down. “I haven’t told him a thing about you, Toby. I swear to God.”

  Toby’s bottom lip was noticeably quivering. “There is no way in hell that you know all that just from grabbing my hand. That’s impossible. Is this a prank, Lauren?”

  The detective shook her head.

  Matt finger-spelled the word “psychometry.” “Do you know what this is?”

  Toby sat silently for a long moment, letting the absurdity of what had just transpired sink in. Outside of snake-oil salesmen and a world filled with con-artists bilking millions of believers by pretending to read Tarot cards and coffee grinds, the reality of someone who actually possessed some sort of supernatural ability was beyond the realm of his scientific belief.

  Lauren broke the silence. “He’s the real deal, Toby. Matt did the same thing to me. He knows everything about my past just by touching me. I know it’s crazy, but the blow to his head as a child might have flipped some switch in his brain that gives him this extraordinary skill.”

  Toby rubbed his hands through his salt and peppered beard. He tried to shake off the feeling that the walls of the room were closing in on him. “Do you realize that what you’re suggesting goes against every scientific principle that I was ever taught and practiced?”

  Lauren took Toby’s hand. “If you don’t trust Matt then trust me. Do you see any neon signs on the front of the house advertising for psychic readings? He’s not in this for the money. Only a handful of people know he has this ability.”

  Toby looked at Lauren and then signed to Matthew. “Then why us?”

  Matt answered without a moment’s hesitation. “You’re going to find the man that killed my parents.”

  Toby’s eyes narrowed. “And you know this?” He signed.

  “I believe it.” Matt signed back.

  31

  Gerald Banks tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for the elevator to carry him up to the twentieth floor. He jabbed at the already-lit button as though that would make the lift ascend faster. Banks checked his wristwatch and noted that even though the offices weren’t closed yet, Peter Mason might have left already. He had dialed his brother-in-law’s extension and his cell phone, but both attempts had gone directly to voicemail. This news had immediate ramifications, and there was no way he’d leave it on an answering system.

  Banks stepped out of the elevator before the doors had opened entirely. It was a minute walk to the corner office, but he made it in a quarter of that time. The lights were still on in the outer reception area, but the secretary’s desk was vacant. Without bothering to knock, Banks burst through the doors to find Mason leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed. “Peter, we need to talk.” Banks urged.

  Mason’s eyes slowly opened as he brought himself forward. It was apparent that he was not happy with the sudden intrusion. A loud thump came from beneath the desk as his secretary emerged with her long brown hair in a tangled mess. As she rose to her feet, she adjusted her clothing and grinned bashfully at Banks, who just shook his head. “For God’s sake, Peter. In your office?”

  Mason reached under the desk and zipped up his trousers. “Take the rest of the day, Bunny. We’ll finish this discussion tomorrow.”

  The secretary maneuvered around Banks, who was unaware that he was blocking the exit. “Thank you, Mr. Mason. Have a good rest of your day.”

  The look on Bank’s face was worth a million dollars. “Bunny?”

  Mason shrugged from behind his desk. “What do you want from me? She takes great dictation.”

  Bank’s head slumped. “You act like a sixteen-year-old, do you know that?”

  Mason looked quizzical. “I’m not quite sure of what reaction you’re looking for Gerald, offended or flattered? For the sake of your job, let’s go with flattered. So then I guess I should say thank
you, and you’re much too kind.”

  “I’m here because you’ve got a serious problem, Peter.”

  Mason nodded. “I know, right? I was so close! But you didn’t need to show up, I could have handled it on my own.”

  Banks shook his head. “Okay, that’s disgusting on so many levels, but I’m talking about something just a bit more important.”

  Mason leaned forward. “I’d bet you a month’s salary that what I was doing was more important to me.”

  Bank’s walked around one of the two leather-bound desk chairs and took a seat. “I think I’ll take that bet…Hitchcock is dead.”

  In the second it took to inhale a single breath, Mason’s demeanor and facial color changed. He blanched. “What do you mean, Hitchcock’s dead? I just spoke with him on the phone like three hours ago.”

  “Well, you might have been one of the last people to talk to him then, because right now he’s lying on a slab in the city morgue.”

  Mason gritted his teeth. “Don’t mess with me, Gerald. If this is your idea of a practical joke, I’m not laughing.”

  The sunlight filtering in from the late afternoon sky suddenly turned the room oppressive as a blockade of clouds floated across the city. The atmosphere in the office was just as cheerless.

  “It was a hit and run.”

  Mason was stupefied. “Hit and run? How does that happen? Why would hit someone and then just keep driving?”

  Banks gazed out at the city; suddenly, it looked colder and more indifferent than ever. “Hitchcock was getting his mail when a car either swerved or lost control and hit him. His wife heard the scream, but by the time she reached him on the front lawn, the car was gone. He died in her arms.”