by David Boiani
00:04:03, 00:04:02, 00:04:01…
As John entered Carnation the captain relayed some information: “John, the locals checked out the Issaquah coordinates. There was nothing, it was a decoy. The woman is in Carnation.”
“10–4, almost there,” John responded.
John turned onto Carnation Farm Road knowing the time was drawing near.
00:01:34, 00:01:33, 00:01:32…
Suddenly, the old Talbot barn came into sight, half a mile up on the left. John floored it as he approached the site and screeched to a halt just outside the barn, throwing up gravel and dirt in every direction. He glanced down at his wrist: 00:00:21, 00:00:20, 00:00:19…
Ricky was out first, jumping down before the truck came to a stop. He rolled over, got up and ran towards the large doors leading inside the barn with John close on his heels. He crashed the door open and John flew past him into the open center on the structure. Just as his eyes could focus on the scene in front of him, he heard a loud gunshot. There is no mistaking the sound of a shotgun going off. The next sight that came to him was a lone woman, hanging from her shackled wrists, missing half her head.
John dropped to his knees with his head in his hands, knowing he was just seconds too late.
CHAPTER THREE
The feds showed up shortly after the shotgun shell hit the ground and they took control of the crime scene, which was fine with John and Ricky. They would go over the reports when they became available. As for now, John needed to get away from the site and attempt to erase the grisly image that was embedded in his mind. Photos would be taken, forensics would arrive and after all the evidence and data were collected, the body would be taken away for examination and identification.
On the ride back, not a word was uttered between the two men. They were both currently neck deep in grief and regret. Nothing hurts a cop more than failing to save a life that depended on them.
They returned to the station, and the captain met them as they walked in the door. “Heads up men, we did all that we could.”
“With all due respect, sir, that’s bullshit and you know it,” John replied. “I’m going to the restaurant to get drunk. I’ll be in tomorrow to go over the reports.”
Captain Johnson patted John on the back and watched him walk out.
John downed his second whiskey as Red sat down next to him.
“Hey John, I heard what happened. You’ll get him, you always do.”
“Whatever happens now won’t bring her back. She was an innocent woman, now gone forever, all because I failed.”
“Yeah, you failed, but so did the feds, the captain and everyone else involved.”
“Now I sit around and wait for that fucking nut to abduct someone else and go through the whole twisted process again. Why go through this charade? Why does he need to prove he’s smarter than us, than me? I mean who the fuck cares?”
“You may find the answers when you find out who the killer is. It’s definitely personal, John.” Red said. “Do you have any idea who it could be? Someone you put away maybe?”
“I have no fucking idea, Red. None at all.”
John ordered his third whiskey, ran his hand through his disheveled hair and leaned back on his barstool.
“That poor girl, she hung there for twenty-four hours knowing she was going to die, watching her life count down,” John said. “Red, if you could know the exact time of your death beforehand, would you want to know?”
“Damn, that’s a very complex question. I think the natural human reaction is yes, because we want to know everything, even if it’s painful or difficult. That’s why we gaze at accidents as we drive by; we can’t look away. We have an instinct to uncover the unseen, to explore the unknown. However, I also think it would be wearisome living out the time we have left knowing when it was up, counting the days, the hours, the minutes…”
“Maybe, but it would also cause us to live the time we have left to the fullest. With limited time we would live without fear, and constantly exist in the moment.”
“It’s a complicated conception, my friend. I guess the effect would vary for everyone.” He then patted John on the shoulder and went back to work as the rush of the late crowd began to arrive.
John’s glance circled the restaurant, for the first time noticing that there were people around him. Sean lifted his beer in a salute from the other end of the bar. John gave a slight wave back and downed the rest of his whiskey.
Red drove John home, and as John got out he thanked his friend. He entered the house and was immediately welcomed at the door by Simba, wagging his tail and licking John’s face as he settled down on one knee to pet and greet his companion. John thought it was moments like these that made owning a dog so enjoyable. No matter how terrible your day was, no matter how you may have fucked up, they always greeted you with the same love and excitement. That is what makes the vet bills, the accidents, the trips outside in the middle of the night, acceptable. That is the trade-off: unconditional loyalty and love.
John walked upstairs into Gianna’s room. She was already asleep, so John sat down to watch her. As he gazed at her, she appeared to John as a young girl, donning her pajamas and a ponytail in her hair. A tear fell down his cheek as he noticed the innocence that his daughter still possessed. He dropped his head and brought his hands to his face. John cried for the woman who he failed to save that day. He cried for his daughter, gradually becoming a woman, and for the little girl he remembered. He cried for the pieces of his life he couldn’t control, the evil overtaking the innocent, and the finality of death. He cried as time slowly, steadily, passed him by. In his mind, John pictured himself an old man with people who have gradually, but persistently, died around him, until one day he realizes everyone is gone. That is when you finally accept death without fear, because your life – or what mattered of it – had already been lived.
John opened his eyes and turned over as the bright, late morning sunshine invaded the dark sanctuary of his bedroom. He mumbled to himself and stumbled to the bathroom. He stood over the toilet and tried to hit the moving target in front of him. He had to shake off the residue of the previous evening’s activities and make his way to the station. He showered, dressed, consumed two cups of black coffee and was on his way.
“Her name is Kerry Reid. They found her car abandoned, broken down on Beacon Ave near Jefferson Park,” Captain Johnson said.
“Just like that, her car breaks down and she’s gone forever,” Ricky added.
“Was she married? Any children?” John asked.
“No, she was engaged. The feds talked to her fiancée this morning.” The captain placed two files on the desk. “Here are your reports. I have to brief an officer on another case. Read up, ladies, and we’ll regroup in a bit.”
After a few minutes of scanning the report, John put the file down. “Anything here catch your eye?”
“Nope, nothing looks new. This guy is organized and efficient.”
“He obviously puts his time in. He had to scout these sites beforehand. He knew they would be vacant and undisturbed for a couple of days.”
“The property the barn is on was owned by the Talbots. The mortgage was foreclosed quite a while ago. The old man passed and the children weren’t keeping up on the maintenance, or the bills. They all live out of state,” Ricky said. “Everything this un-sub does is calculated.”
“We have to dig into this file, figure out his methods, his profile, his next move before he does,” John said.
“When I first hit the field in New York, a partner of mine had a saying: To stay ahead of a psychopath, you have to be willing to burrow into another man’s soul. See what he sees. Feel what he feels. Think what he thinks.”
“Your partner overlooked one small detail,” John said.
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“He assumed the man has a soul.”
As the day grew long, John closed the file and leaned back in his chair ready to culminate the investigation for the
evening. He started packing up his work as Ricky and Captain Johnson entered the office. Just as Ricky sat down his cell phone rang, followed by a couple of different tones.
“You answering that?” John asked.
“No, I let it go to voicemail.”
“I respect the advancements in technology, but I’ve had my fill of all those beeps and tones constantly disturbing the peaceful quiet,” John said.
“Technology is nothing to be afraid of. Welcome to 2018, gramps.”
“The shiny new rookie even comes with a sense of humor. You learn that in the Big Apple, showboat?”
“Nope, I was born with it. You know what they say, ‘if you can make a woman laugh, you will end up in bed with her,’” Ricky answered.
“Or, in your case, if you end up in bed with a woman, you will make her laugh.”
The captain erupted in laughter and shortly after, both Ricky and John joined in. It was a much-needed release of tension for all three men.
That evening John took his family out to dinner. He needed to get his mind off the case and a quiet meal with his family was the perfect remedy. John smiled as the waitress took their orders. He looked around the table at his family and noticed how much his children had changed over the years. His son Ryann, now eleven, had started to become secretive and private. John knew puberty was just around the corner and communicating with both his children would become challenging.
“Ryann, when’s your next baseball game?” he asked.
“Tomorrow night. Are you coming, Dad?”
“Of course I am.”
“We’re playing the undefeated, first-place team. They have Derek Fogarty pitching. He throws really hard. I’m not sure I can hit him.”
John placed his glass of ice water down and looked at his children.
“I’m going to tell you both something, and I want you to listen up. There is nothing you cannot do if you possess the desire to achieve it. You will fail at times – we all fail at times in life – but what will make you a winner is getting back up and trying harder. Think about what you did wrong. Notice the little details that others may miss. Whether it be hitting a baseball, your schoolwork, or just being a better person. The effort you put forth is half the battle.”
“But what if I can’t hit him? What if it’s too fast for me?”
“You will. Maybe not the first time, or even the second, but I promise you, keep trying and success will find you.”
The food arrived just as John finished his fatherly pep talk and they all had an enjoyable dinner together.
John sat at his desk, reading a few emails when the captain’s voice broke him out of his trance.
“John, come in here. He’s at it again. Just got an email from him. The feed is loading now.”
“Be right in,” John said. As he walked into the captain’s office, he noticed a strange look on his face. The captain looked like he had seen a ghost.
“John, hold on, don’t look…”
John rushed around the desk to see what was on the screen. He froze in fear but couldn’t pry his eyes from the horrid sight in front of him. In a clearing in a wooded area, with her head stuck in a guillotine, was his wife, Julie.
“Noooo!” he screamed.
“John, we’ll get her out of there as soon as we get the hint. I will put every member on this team on it and call in the Marines if I have to—”
“Look!” John said and pointed to the bottom of the screen.
00:00:03, 00:00:02, 00:00:01…
A split second before the blade fell and Julie’s head was detached from her body, he saw his beautiful wife look up at the camera with tears running down her face. Her head rolled away, and blood spurted from her neck, soaking the ground below. John turned away and vomited.
He woke in a cold sweat and quickly turned to see Julie asleep beside him. He made his way to the bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet to finish the vomiting fit from his nightmare. He stood up and splashed cold water on his face and paused to look at his reflection. His eyes were bloodshot with an inflamed puffiness and dark circles around them. He dried off his face and went back to bed, hoping his dream would not return.
***
Red was stocking the bar, preparing for the lunchtime rush as Sean walked in and sat in his usual seat at the end of the bar.
“Hey, Red, how goes it?”
“Sean, aren’t you working today?”
“I guess, but you can’t drink all day if you don’t start in the morning, my friend,” He said with a laugh.
“I guess that means you want a drink. Brooklyn?”
“Well, if you are twisting my arm, what choice do I have?”
Red popped the cap off a fresh one and placed it in front of Sean.
“Hey Red, I’ve got a story for you.”
“Okay, go ahead.”
“My wife Debbie and I have a black Lab named Bailey. When we first got married, we lived in the city. I used to walk Bailey on the same route every day. I would stop off at four bars along the route. I called them the four corners. They would all let Bailey in with me and would give him a biscuit. I would get a beer at each one, so by the time the walk was over, I was feeling pretty well.”
“Somehow, I find this story very believable up to this point,” Red said.
“Oh, it is true, all of it. Anyway, one day I came down with the flu, so my wife took him on the usual route. When they approached each bar, Bailey pulled her right up to the door and wouldn’t budge until he got his biscuit. When she got home she called me a useless drunk and told me I had lost dog-walking privileges. My dog, my best friend, told on me! You believe that shit?”
Red chuckled. “That’s what you get for being a sneaky drunk.”
Just as Sean was finishing his story, Matt walked in and sat next to him.
“Don’t any of you slugs work?” Red asked.
“Work? I’m a teacher. Summers off. Plus, I went to Brown. Sean, did you know that?”
“I believe I heard you mention it once or twice.”
“Oh, okay. I don’t like to tell everyone that, so keep it between us, buddy.”
“Buy me another beer and you got a deal, my scholarly friend.”
“Red, I’ll have a Brown University and another round for my friend here.”
“A Brown University? Matt, I’ve been a bartender for close to twenty-five years and I’ve never heard of that.”
“Seriously? It’s one-part bourbon, one-part vermouth, and a couple dashes of orange bitters.”
“Okay, I’ll mix it up for you.”
As Red served the next round, John walked in and sat at the other end of the bar.
“Hey, Red, am I interrupting?” John said as he glanced in the direction of Matt and Sean.
“Hell no, talking to those guys makes my brain cells commit suicide one at a time. How’s the case going?”
“We’re at a standstill until he reaches out to us again.”
“Damn, that must be frustrating.”
“He’s a control freak who likes to play games and flaunt his self-proclaimed intelligence, especially towards me. If I can beat him at his own game, I may be able to knock him off balance and piss him off. Maybe then he stumbles and makes a mistake or two.”
“How’s Julie holding up?”
“She’s onboard for now, but that can change quickly. Especially if she finds out I lied to her about my therapist’s assessment.”
“Never underestimate the power of estrogen, my friend. The female intuition has powers we can’t begin to understand, especially if it is about something tied to their emotions. I guarantee she has a close eye on you.”
“You’re probably correct there, partner.” John looked at the other end of the bar. Matt was ogling a young woman half his age as she walked by, headed to the ladies’ room. Sean was lost in his beer. “How are things here?”
“Perfect, no issues at all.”
“Glad to hear it. I really appreciate you covering for me, Red
.”
“I got your back, partner. Just find this a-hole.”
***
The morning clouds dispersed and the warm, overcast day turned into a perfect evening for baseball. John sat between Julie and Gianna while holding Simba’s leash as the malamute sprawled out on the cool grass under the bleachers. John watched Lucas Ferguson, the tall, twelve-year-old pitcher from the opposing team, warm up on the mound.
“John, he throws hard. I hope they can hit him,” Julie said.
“Sure they can, if they go up to the plate with confidence,” John replied. He noticed Ryann glance over at his family as he waited outside the dugout for the game to start.
Come on Ryann, you can do this, John thought as the umpire signaled it was time to play ball. Ryann struck out his first two times up and his team fell behind 2-0. After the second strikeout, John noticed his son glance at him on the way back to the dugout. John smiled and gave him a slight nod. He knew his son would understand the gesture as, You got this.
Heading into the final inning and still down two runs, Ryann was due up to bat third. Jimmy Collins walked and stole second as Gary Blake struck out. Ryann was up. The first pitch was a called strike, just over the outside corner at the knees. Julie grabbed John’s hand and glanced at him with a concerned look in her eyes. The second pitch was in the dirt, and Jimmy advanced to third. The next pitch was right down the middle, and for the first time Ryann made contact against Lucas Ferguson. He fouled the ball over the opposing dugout down the first base line.
“That’s it, Ryann! You can do it!” Julie yelled.
Ryann fouled off four more pitches and worked the count to 3-2. The next pitch was a hard fastball at the knees on the inside corner. Ryann finally got around on the ball and hit a line-drive down the line and over the third baseman’s head. He rounded first and pulled into second as Jimmy trotted home. John felt an immense feeling of pride, and he pointed to his son standing on second base. The next batter struck out, ending the game, but, having overcome his doubts and fears, it was an experience Ryann would never forget.