Necessary Evil

by Janelle Taylor

  Dan replied, “You’re not under arrest, Phillips; we just wanted to ask you some questions about the similarities between these recent murders and those past cases. Do you recall anything that might be helpful to us? Anybody who acted suspicious during the investigation or trial? Anyone who said something odd to you or Ms. Carter? Any strange phone calls or letters? Is there anyone who loved her enough to go after justice for her?”

  Although he had shaken his head after each query, Frank told him, “Nothing and nobody that I can think of, Lieutenant. Is that all? Can I go now? My boss is probably chewing nails because I’m so late.”

  “Mory will contact you later this evening. By then, you’ll have had time to check your calendar, so you can tell him where you were on April twentieth. And, I would advise you not to run the next time an officer wants to talk to you.”

  “I’m still a suspect? I told you I don’t know anything about Silverman’s death and I’ve never heard of that other man. I want to take a lie detector test and prove to you I’m telling the truth. Damn that Karen, she’s cursing my life even after her death! Why won’t she go away and leave me alone? Hasn’t she hurt and humiliated me enough?”

  Dan wanted to shout, What about the agony and shame and hell Karen went through, you sorry bastard! He couldn’t and he didn’t, but that urge still tempted him. Phillips must have shown more kindness and consideration in the past towards Karen for her to agree to marry him. The rape and the events surrounding it had probably changed him into the bitter, resentful person sitting before him now. “A lie detector test isn’t necessary at this time. If we feel the need for one later, we’ll let you know. I’m going to remove the handcuffs, so you can call your boss to let him know you were delayed. Then we’ll take you back to your car.” He listened as Phillips told his boss he wasn’t feeling well and thought he had some kind of virus but was sure he’d be able to come to work in the morning. Dan couldn’t help but wonder what the conversation would be like between Melissa and Frank that night.

  Tuesday afternoon, June 19th

  Dan and Mory walked into Sands Hardware and glanced around the store. One customer was strolling the aisles, two were standing at the checkout counter, and an older man was working the cash register. Dan and Mory went to the counter and waited until the last person had paid and left.

  “Whatcha need?” the elderly man asked. The man’s navy shirt was so stretched over a bulging stomach that it hiked up at his waist and exposed flabby white skin. His baggy khaki pants sorely needed the belt that held them in place. A promotional cap for one of the store’s products almost concealed his white hair. A thick beard and mustache covered much of his lower face.

  Mory showed him his badge and stated, “We need to speak with John Priester and was told he works here. Is he in today?”

  “He’s s’posed to be in the back unloading boxes. I’ll call him for ya. Hey, John! Somebody’s here to see ya!” he yelled, then lowered his voice to a near whisper. “I’m Oscar Sands, the owner of this store. I hope John hasn’t done anything illegal, ‘cause I don’t need no trouble with the law. I heard some sicko bastard killed one of his best friends the other night, so maybe that’s why he’s been acting real strange lately. Man, what’s this world coming to? Hey, John, get your ass out here!” Sands yelled over his shoulder after he realized they weren’t going to give him any information about their business with his employee.

  Dan saw a male who looked to be in his early thirties walk through a doorway at the rear of the store. He was wearing old jeans and a black Harley Davidson t-shirt. Holes were in both garments that were dirty and wrinkled. He wore a hat over greasy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail that hung halfway down his back.

  As he approached the three men, John spoke around an unlit Marlboro cigarette clenched between his teeth. “What da you guys want? I don’t know you, do I?”

  “Are you John Priester?” Dan watched the man rake him with a cocky gaze.

  “Yeah, who are you?” John asked as he lit his cigarette.

  “I’m Lieutenant Dan Mallory and this is Sergeant Mory Morrison. We’re investigating the murder of your friend, David Crouch, and we’d like to ask you a few questions. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

  “Hell, man, I don’t know nobody who’s sick enough to do that shit! Damn Davey for...” John stopped midsentence and looked at the floor as he took a long drag off the Marlboro and blew the smoke downward. “He was my best friend, ya know? Our old ladies dance t’gether at the club and we’d have some wild parties, ya know? Why’d somebody do that to ‘im? Do ya know who it was?”

  Dan asked again in a polite tone. “Is there anywhere we can talk about this in private? We don’t want customers to come in and hear us. What about the stockroom?”

  “Nope. The boss is a real shit about people going back there, ain’t cha, Oscar? Whaddya need to talk to me about? I ain’t done nutting wrong, so ya can say whatcha gotta say in front of ‘im.”

  “Do you know anyone who would want to kill your friend? Was anybody angry with him that you knew about? Had he gotten into a recent fight with someone?”

  John puffed on his cigarette before he answered, “Naw, Davey was wild, but he never bothered nobody, ya know? The papers said somebody kilt him on a ‘cause of that gal who said he raped her.”

  “What do you know about that incident, Mr. Priester? Didn’t you claim he was with you that night?”

  “Sure as shit was, man. We was out having a beer or two, ya know? The little cunt kept coming up to Davey all night and saying how she’d like to take him home and all. He told her he was married, but that didn’t stop her none. She wanted him real bad, ya know? So we left awhile later, ‘cause she wouldn’t let us drink in peace. Davey ‘bout died of fear when the cops came and hauled him off to jail. Lying bitch! This is all her fault.” He tossed the unfinished Marlboro on the floor and mashed it with his shoe.

  “He was with you all night?” Mory asked, doubtful this man was telling the truth.

  “Yeah, man, all night, like I said before. We passed out cold when we got to Davey’s place. His bitch was pissed ‘cause he didn’ go see her new outfit. She beat the shit out of ‘im. Davey just laughed at her and told her to fuck off. She was real sorry later when she found out he didn’t do that cunt and she’d done gone and roughed ‘im up a bit.”

  “Where were you last Friday night, Mr. Priester?”

  “I was watchin’ my old lady strut her stuff, man. She was flappin’ them big ol’ titties and cute little ass all over that stage. She’s hot, ya know? You should come watch her sometime. She’s good, ain’t she, Oscar? Every man who sees her wants to fuck her bad, even the boss, don’t ya, Oscar?”

  “I wouldn’t mind a go at her, but I ain’t taking your leftovers.”

  John laughed and looked at the two officers. Neither was smiling at his crude joke and that made him edgy. What the hell did they want from him? He stopped smiling and leaned against the counter to help still his shakes.

  Hoping to make John nervous by his confident tone and look, Dan asked, “Is there anything else you’d like to tell us, Mr. Priester?”

  John lit another cigarette. “About what? I done told ya, I don’t know no fucking homos. Them peoples is sick, man. I hope ya git the bastard and turn ‘im over to the boys in the big house. That’d teach ‘im a lesson or two, ya know?”

  Dan handed John his card, thanked him for his time and asked him to call if he thought of anybody they needed to check out or anything they needed to know about either case: Crouch’s or Ms. Starnes’s.

  As soon as they pulled away from the curb, Mory said, “That little shit is lying through his teeth. I’d like to send him to the big house for a lesson of his own.”

  “So would I, partner, but that isn’t up to us, unless we can prove he perjured himself, or he had something to do with our two homicides.”

  John Priester stood near the front door and watched the two men drive away. He took a deep d
rag on the Marlboro, flicked the butt to the floor and stomped on it. Damn, cops made him nervous! Damn Davey for fucking that girl. He’d told the horny bastard to leave her alone, that she wasn’t nothing but trouble. Davey had laughed and said nobody would believe her and he’d been right. But now he was dead. Fucking dead! John wanted to laugh at his own joke, but he was worried the “Avenger” was going to come looking for him, too. Recalling what the “Avenger” had done to David, he knew he couldn’t deal with that fate. Maybe he ought to leave town. He headed to the stockroom to decide what he was going to do.

  Minutes later, John was standing in the open back door when the first bullet hit him in the chest. The second and third struck him in his stomach as his body jerked backwards from each blast. He couldn’t yell for help or staunch the rapid blood flow. Or stop the darkness overtaking his eyes and brain. John Priester collapsed to the floor, dead on impact.

  Chapter Five

  Wednesday afternoon, June 20th

  Dan greeted a detective who was walking down the hallway outside his office. “Hey, Tom. Congrats on winning the softball game last night. I heard you hit a homer. How’s your knee holding up?” Dan knew Tom Hinks was one of the police department’s star softball players. The team had come in second place last year at the national level after winning the state finals. Tom had injured his knee sliding into third base during the fourth game of the national finals, but had managed to get the all-important run before being rushed to the hospital for surgery. He’d been unable to play the remaining championship games, which was still a sore spot with him. They had lost in the last game by one run.

  “It’s holding up all right. The doc says I should be able to play fine this year. I hope so, because I wanna kick some ass!”

  “Good luck. I’ll try to make it to some of the games this season. Is the schedule posted on the board?”

  “Yep. You should come to at least one game. You might get laid. Lots of single women come to watch us play,” he teased.

  Bob Jeffords walked up and said, “Hey, Tom. We picked up the guy who blasted the hardware store on Fourth Street. High as a kite. I don’t see how he’s still alive, he’s got so much shit running through his veins, or how he hit a target three times.”

  “What hardware store?” Dan asked, although he suspected which one Bob was going to name.

  “Sands Hardware. Some cracker came in and trashed the place. Probably looking for money or dope. Killed the two men working there with an automatic pistol. Luckily there weren’t any customers inside. We picked up the dumb ass this morning, still carrying the gun and covered in blood. He didn’t even know what his name was. Why’d you ask?”

  “I was there yesterday afternoon, talking to a John Priester. Do you remember if he was one of the men killed?”

  “Yep. What’s this guy to you?” Bob asked.

  “He was the alibi for one of the men who was charged with rape and then killed last week. Those two cases the media is going crazy over. Captain, too. Guess we’ll never know what the true story is with that one.”

  “I heard you and Mory got that case. A tough one. Personally, I’d like to shake the Avenger’s hand, so I can’t say I’d be able to work it right. Makes a man hope he gets away with it.”

  “If he does, we’ll have a lot more vigilantes out there, seeking their own brand of justice, and we’d be arresting people right and left.”

  “I know, Dan, but it just pisses me off when we get the prick who did it and the courts let him go because of some stupid technicality. Everybody knows he did it, but our hands get tied with all these stupid laws. ‘Yeah, we know he confessed he did it and we have evidence linking him to the scene, but he wasn’t read his rights before he said all that, so we can’t use it in court.’ Then the jerk walks right out there and does it again and everybody looks to us to do something about it. We’re not the bad guys; it’s those damn defense lawyers: they keep messing with the law and trying to find loopholes that will let their guilty clients go free. They get our legal system screwed up.”

  “I say we have a bonfire and throw all of them in it,” Tom joked to lighten the mood.

  “Then we’d have a problem controlling all the people who came to cheer it on. The Masters Golf traffic would be nothing compared to that swarm!” Dan laughed as the others groaned. “See you guys later.”

  Thursday, April 21st

  “Afternoon, Henri. Tell me you got those lab tests back. I really need to find this maniac before anyone else decides to join up with him. Captain Bolton is on my case to get it solved before James Starr slams the department with another inflammatory article. He’s ten times worse than any TV reporter we’ve had to deal with,” Dan told her. He was as angry as Bolton was about the last piece on Karen’s suicide and Lisa’s flight. The Richmond County Commission Chairman had called the Sheriff, who had called Chief Deputy Carnes, who had called Captain Bolton, who had called Dan and Mory. This killer had to be caught soon. But where to look? Frank Phillips had an alibi for the first murder and had talked to his fiancée before the second. Dan didn’t think Phillips was involved, and now John Priester was dead. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any more deaths, but Dan had a bad feeling about this Avenger who had tasted torture and publicity, and was probably addicted to both.

  “You’d better watch out for that reporter, Dan. He’s out for blood and he doesn’t care whose he has to spill to make it big. Have you checked James out?” Henrietta asked. She remembered what it was like to work a high profile case and to have the media and the Sheriff on your back. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially friends.

  “Mory is looking into his background today. He didn’t pass on anything vital before he left.”

  “Where is Mory?”

  “Janie’s on his case again, so I told him to take the afternoon off and spend it with her. But I promised to call him if you had anything big for us. Do you?” Dan’s voice lifted in hopeful anticipation.

  “Well, I know what killed David Crouch and it wasn’t his heart. Remember the injection site on the inner part of his elbow? That clued me to check for something that shouldn’t have been in his system. Routine blood tests showed everything was normal. So I sent tissue samples from his liver, brain and skin to the lab in Atlanta. They showed an abnormally high level of potassium chloride. Potassium chloride is found in smaller amounts in the body; it dissipates rapidly in a live human. So it doesn’t show up in routine blood tests and isn’t noticeable unless you’re looking specifically for it. But in larger doses, potassium chloride causes a quick death from cardiac depression, arrhythmias or cardiac arrest. Whoever raped David Crouch gave him a dose of serum large enough to drop a dog, which surprisingly enough isn’t much. It takes more to kill a lab rat than a human or small animal. That’s why it can’t be used to fake death in a suicide. You don’t have time to get rid of the needle before you die.”

  “What about Ted Silverman? Was he given potassium chloride, too?”

  “I don’t know. As I said, it doesn’t show up in routine tests. Silverman had needle marks on his arms and legs according to the flimsy autopsy Ed performed. There was a low level of cocaine hydrochloride in his blood stream; not enough to be a factor in his death. But good ole Ed didn’t look past that. Silverman’s C-O-D was reported as cardiac arrest, which would be consistent with Crouch’s. With so many scars on his arms and legs, Ed probably didn’t take special note of any fresh needle marks.”

  “What if we exhume and test Silverman?”

  “It’s too late after an autopsy and embalming.”

  “The Captain would never go for that anyway. Not with all the publicity already stirred up by the paper and TV stations. They’d have a field day, definitely linking the crimes. Let’s assume they were both injected with this potassium chloride. Who would know about it? Is it common knowledge or would someone have to have some kind of medical training?”

  “I’d say someone would have to possess pretty good knowledge of the human system
and chemistry. Maybe he didn’t intend for us to find out how he killed them. As I said, unless you’re specifically looking for it, KCL doesn’t show up in routine tests.”

  Dan sat in the high-backed chair, thoughtful for a moment. “Where would someone get this potassium chloride? From medications?”

  “Some prescription drugs contain it, but not in this high or pure dosage. The killer would need a prescription for it, or have some place where he could steal it. Medical dosages usually range from ten to thirty milliliters, but Crouch received a larger injection of concentrated KCL. I’d suggest looking into local medical research labs or a chemical supply company or physicians with samples in their offices. See if they’ve had any break-ins or if they’re missing any inventory, because this stuff isn’t found on the streets in its pure form.”

  “Looks as if Mory and I have a lot of work to do.”

  Friday night, June 22nd

  “Good, you’re coming around, Ben. I was afraid I’d given you too much Valium and you’d be asleep forever. We’ve got some partying to do before the night is over and I wanted you to be awake to enjoy it with me. How are you feeling?”

  Through the fog, Ben Truman heard the stranger’s voice whispering behind him. He must have drunk too much and passed out or something. He tried to bring his hand to his face, but couldn’t. Who was holding him down? He struggled to get up and realized he wasn’t able to move.

  “That’s right, Ben, fight against me. Just like Susan fought you. But you taught her a lesson when she tried to make you stop.” A deep sigh. “I guess I’ll have to teach you that same lesson. You didn’t really think you’d get away with it, did you, Ben? Yeah, I guess you did, since the courts turned you loose. But thwarted Justice has a friend on her side: Me.”

  Ben Truman tried to scream as his leg was set on fire, but the only sound that escaped through his gag was a muffled groan. He smelled his flesh burning as he arched his back against the pain. What was this man going to do to—Oh, shit! He was naked. When had this pervert taken off his clothes? He didn’t remember—