Never Forgotten

by Jennifer Chase

  She stood in front of the locker with the two coats. One jacket was a medium and the other was an extra-large. She slowly used her flashlight to study every inch of the windbreakers in a steady up and down pattern. There was a long hair near the cuff attached to the Velcro of the medium jacket. It was difficult to see the first time because it was a blonde hair and the harsh light made it impossible to see unless you paid careful attention.

  Emily remembered how Sara’s hair was long and well groomed. Sara took special care of her hair and for a long strand to stick to the jacket was no coincidence. Even though the hair could have come from someone else, Emily’s list of suspects shrunk to anyone having access to the maintenance building. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the janitor involved somehow in foul play. Emily remembered how he looked at the students with a sour expression and a bad attitude.

  “What are you doing?” A voice barked from behind Emily.

  Stunned and partially blinded by the Maglite in her face, Emily turned as the security guard stood six feet from her. She didn’t say anything.

  “Who are you?” He demanded.

  “Uh, Emily Stone.”

  “Well, Emily Stone you have some serious explaining to do and I just called the cops. They should be in here in less than ten minutes.” He moved closer, eyeing the entire area. “Anyone else with you?” He scrutinized her and observed that she had been snooping in the lockers.

  “No.”

  “What were you looking for?”

  Emily remained quiet. She knew that no matter what she said to a security guard it would not make a bit of difference.

  * * * * *

  It had taken Emily about twenty minutes to recount everything she had discovered and why she was at the school once she arrived at the police station. She made sure that she explained her own thoughts and her list of possible suspects too.

  Detective Salinger, a young detective, who did not seem amused, listened to Emily with mild curiosity. He stated several times that they could charge her with breaking and entering, or the very least of trespassing and vandalism of school property.

  The detective had taken everything from Emily’s pockets and arranged them on the desk. It was odd to see her tools for the secret investigation of the camera, flashlight, a baggie with the pink plastic piece, and cryptic notes on a piece of paper. Her props, as the cops called them, arranged in order by size proved something to her. In some way, they took her sleuthing seriously and thought that there was something to her story and the clues she had found.

  Why didn’t they just put them in a bag or throw them away? It meant that they were going to take a closer look at the details.

  Emily stared at her belongings.

  The detective kept a calm tone and stood above Emily. “Are you sure that no one else was involved?”

  “Just me.” Emily stared him in the eye, mostly out of curiosity.

  “What did you think you were going to find?”

  “I don’t know – something that would help with the investigation.”

  He sat down on the edge of the desk. “If you had any evidence or knowledge in this case, why didn’t you just come to us?”

  “I didn’t know anything really – I had just met Sara… but…”

  “But what?”

  “She seemed sad or scared about something – there was something that she wasn’t telling even her best friends.”

  “What makes you so sure of that?”

  Emily hesitated and then said, “Because I know from personal experience.”

  The detective sighed. It was clear that he knew something about Emily’s situation after he had talked to her uncle on the phone. He announced. “I’m cutting you a break with just a warning.”

  Emily waited almost an hour before Uncle Jim arrived. When he finally walked into the police station, he looked concerned and a bit disheveled, hair messy and glasses slightly askew, but definitely mad nonetheless.

  CHAPTER 4

  Ten Years Later…

  The room was crowded with students as they hung on every word from the guest speaker. Dr. Julian Crandall adjusted his silver glasses as he glanced at his index cards. He stepped slightly in front of a large screen of photos depicting various violent crime scenes. Bodies contorted and lifeless, a bloody knife, bullet casings, with footprint and tire mark evidence that told a specific story. The photographs continued to advance showing actual crime scene investigators taking notes, examining evidence, and controlling the area.

  The speech was well into the second hour as Dr. Crandall explained, “It’s true what they say ‘haste makes waste’, and that holds especially true in crime scene documentation. Weather conditions can cause a myriad of problems for investigators – that means all types of weather can ruin your day as well as your crime scene. It is so important to mitigate the least amount of contamination and keep the possible destruction of any evidence to a minimum. How do you do that you ask? Simple. Be prepared. Be thorough. Remember, you don’t get a second chance if you make a mistake the first time…”

  The lecture continued for the graduating police academy class. There were questions enthusiastically solicited from the crowd.

  Emily Stone enjoyed the talk in her last police science class before graduating, but her mind wandered. It wasn’t because of any more tests. The classes were officially over and her application had been accepted for an entry-level position as a deputy sheriff. She was scheduled to begin her training in less than two weeks.

  A student had said something funny – the entire room exploded with laughter.

  Emily slipped a folded piece of paper out of her notebook. It was something that she did not want to forget. Unfolding the newspaper article written barely ten days ago, it showed a smiling photograph of Sara Perkins.

  The headline read: Bones Identified as Missing Girl from Ten Year Old Cold Case. The article described how a county employee found the bones two months previously and the remains were sent to the California State Forensic Laboratory. They were later identified as thirteen-year-old Sara Perkins who disappeared without a trace almost ten years ago. The person of interest, Thomas Childs, confessed to the murder and disposing of the body less than two miles from Pine Haven Junior High School. Childs was a mechanic who was employed by the school on a part-time basis. According to Childs, he was in a relationship with Perkins. Investigators initially questioned two teachers and a maintenance worker before the case went cold.

  Emily folded the paper and slipped it back into her folder. There were many defining moments in Emily’s life that seemed to direct her path. Her parent’s unsolved case and the brutal murder of her classmate. She wanted to make a difference and this time she would work with the police to make sure that these situations didn’t have to end like the tragedies in her own life. It was a bittersweet day. Emily was happy, but the emptiness in her heart that represented the loss of her parents made it bittersweet.

  The lecture had ended. A few students left the room, while others waited to ask Dr. Crandall more questions.

  “Hey Em?”

  Emily turned to her friend Amanda. “Yeah.”

  “Everything okay?”

  Smiling, she said. “Sure.”

  “A few of us are getting together at The Tavern. You up for it?”

  “Absolutely. The first round is on me.” She smiled.

  Amanda laughed and made a silly salute to Emily. “Then let’s go Officer Stone.”

  THE END

  DEAD BURN

  Excerpt

  Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Chase

  * * * * *

  PROLOGUE

  “After thoroughly reviewing the evidence of this case, the court has determined that there’s insufficient evidence to proceed.”

  Low muffled cries filtered throughout the courtroom.

  Judge Christensen peered over his reading glasses at the defendant and his high-priced attorney. Disdain was evident in his voice inflection with the distinct syllable emphasis
on the word in-suf-fi-cient.

  He took a stilted breath and continued, “Timothy Devlin, you are released from these proceedings, and free to go.”

  The young man grinned and eagerly shook his attorney’s hand. He stood up, dramatically turned to the courtroom gawkers, and raised his hands in a cheesy victory salute. His sinister grin turned into a full-faced smile. It was obvious he loved every minute of the attention he garnered. He had beaten the system with the help of his pit-bull lawyer.

  A commotion broke out in the courtroom galley among onlookers. A few angry voices boomed above the escalating noise, “Rapist! Rapist!” and “Evil shouldn’t be allowed to go free!”

  Murmurs, gasps, and cries continued to echo throughout the courtroom. It made it difficult to differentiate statements between the angry words and oppositions.

  The prosecutor tried to compete with the crowd’s outbursts as he stated to the court, “With prejudice your honor.”

  “Noted,” replied the judge. He stood up. “Clear the courtroom now!”

  Four sheriff’s deputies moved from their strategic vantage points to guide the men and women from the courtroom. It took a few minutes, but they accomplished their arduous task.

  Assistant District Attorney Joshua Richards bypassed most of the crowd, skirted out of the courtroom, and did not pause to hear more critiques about his job performance. There were a few additional shouts of profanity and evil doom-wishers before the only remaining occupants were the defense counsel and the defendant.

  The noise level instantly ceased to that of an abandoned classroom.

  Chad Bradford slipped the rest of his court notes back into his designer brief case, still with a look of smug satisfaction on his face. That made fourteen rape cases acquitted in the past six months. It didn’t matter that this case was pro bono; more high profile cases with a heavy price tag would soon follow. His smile still radiated as he slipped the lucky gold pen back inside his jacket pocket.

  Everything that any halfway decent attorney needed stared right into their faces; they just had to know where to look, and how to slant it to their advantage. It was simple. He had the best job in the world – power, money, and an endless supply of sex.

  Who could ask for anything more?

  A cell phone buzzed from inside his pocket. Quickly he retrieved it, and the text read: Baby meet me – u won’t be sorry

  “You off to celebrate?” The newly freed defendant asked.

  “Maybe for an hour and then it’s on to the next case,” reflected Chad. “You going to be okay getting out of the courthouse without being mobbed? I could have a deputy escort you.”

  “Nah, I’m outta here.” The young man smoothed his hair, which seemed to stoke up his smirk once again. “It’s been real.” He shook Chad’s hand again and then sauntered from courtroom.

  Chad took a moment to breathe as he gathered his thoughts on some of the upcoming cases currently sitting on his judicial plate. He had an interview at Soledad Prison with a serial rapist charged in seven cases, and the victims kept mounting; it could be as many as thirteen by the end of the week. Without DNA evidence, the case did not scare Chad in the least, but amped his adrenaline with a new manipulative courtroom challenge. He would have his private investigator Zig Rodriquez gather dirt on all of the female complainants. By his estimation, the district attorney’s case would soon crumble and blow away in the wind. He would play the criminal justice system and win once again.

  His cell phone buzzed again.

  This time the text message instructed Chad to an address in the downtown area. It made him smile. A quickie in the afternoon was what he needed to refocus his energy.

  He left the empty courtroom.

  * * * * *

  Chad eased his sleek black BMW up to the curb and kept the engine idling, his GPS directed him to an abandoned location. He stretched his neck precariously as he leaned across the passenger’s seat and peered out the window, trying to get a better vantage of the dilapidating building.

  The business had been an independently owned hardware store throughout the late eighties and into the mid-nineties, but remained vacant ever since. They couldn’t compete with all the super stores and Internet sites monopolizing the consumer market.

  The storefront windows, which once housed large displays, were now boarded up with heavy plywood and swathed with flyers of lost items and pets, work at home scams, and black and red graffiti emblems from local rival gangs. Adjacent storefronts, torn down five years previously, had only chain link fences marking their once existence.

  The only other car on the back alley was a rusted Toyota truck missing the back tires and driver’s side window. Some of the flyers had scattered along the broken sidewalk and continued to tumble down the street. The breeze kicked up another notch as more litter blew along the pavement.

  “What the hell?”

  Chad looked around and double-checked the address once again from his phone. He was at the correct location, at least according to his phone application.

  He dialed Abby’s number and it went immediately to voice mail. He listened for a moment to hear her sexy voice apologizing for not being available before he ended the call. It must be some kind of kinky game.

  Well okay, I can play too.

  He finally turned off the car engine and sat a moment, before he disengaged the door locks. This place would definitely take his mind off work. He could use some down time with a little adventure to feed his soul. He hoped that no one would jack his car in the meantime.

  Chad opened his door and stepped out, he still monitored his surroundings, but it was quiet and deserted. He shed his suit jacket, grabbed his brief case, and put everything into his trunk, except for a small handgun he casually dropped into his trouser pocket. He didn’t want to be another crime statistic, and this was one instance being a lawyer could get him killed.

  As he walked back to the front of the car, he caught a brief refection of himself in the window, and it always amazed him that he was so handsome with dark brown hair and a medium muscular physique. No wonder Abby found him so attractive, and many others for that matter.

  “How the hell do I get into this place?” He muttered to himself.

  Chad secured his car alarm with a gentle push of a button from the gold keychain.

  Nothing had changed on the quiet street, no one appeared, no slow moving cars checked out his expensive ride, and no homeless people materialized from tucked away locations in the alleyway asking for spare change.

  It was dead quiet.

  One of the sections of the chain link fence was broken and forcibly curled backward, as if a huge wind had transformed it. He decided to scope out the building and easily squeezed through the metal barrier.

  Pieces of trash, old rotten food, various sized recycling cans, and weathered cardboard littered the empty lot, but didn’t mask the unappealing sweet-sour stench.

  Chad tried not to inhale too deeply as his stomach churned the more he thought about the snaking filth all around him. He hoped that the interior of the building was clean and sanitary, as he unconsciously wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips tightly together.

  He made his way around to the back of the building, carefully examining each step in order not to soil his Italian, handmade loafers. A metal door caught his eye. It led directly to the alley and it appeared strangely out of place. The doorknob glistened bright silver, sparkling clean, without smudges or fingerprints. It imbibed the late sunlight and expelled a star shadow trail with long sliver points, reflecting around the alley.

  The high-tech door stood out against the run down building. There were no available windows, just more disintegrating pieces of plywood bolted onto the building, layer after layer, from the years of neglect.

  Chad swallowed hard as his mouth went dry, licking his lips in nervous tension. He blinked his eyes several times to try to stop the slight dizziness that crept into his view. It made the door and the crumbling building vie for his attention.r />
  He stared at the doorknob for what seemed like an hour, but in reality, barely five seconds had passed. Finally, with his right hand, he reached for the grip and twisted. It turned easily in his grasp.

  He let go and backed up two steps, still staring at the closed door.

  Something deep inside told him to retrieve the .22 from his pocket.

  It could be so easy to leave and return to his car, but an unseen force pushed him to move forward, if not for some great sex, then at least out of fundamental curiosity.

  Chad was out of his element and he liked the feeling of being in control of his destiny in a foreign setting, and never knowing what could jump out at him. The adrenalin surged through his veins, down his arms and legs, and pumped in unison with his heartbeat in an orchestras’ tempo. It kept perfect time.

  Chad grabbed the door handle, turned it, and pushed the door inward. A whoosh sound from the suction of the tight weather stripping dulled the ordinary outdoor noises. A crazy heartbeat now hammered in his ears. He felt the small gun in his left hand, smooth, precise, which made him feel invincible, like a superhero in an action movie.

  He entered.

  The door automatically closed behind him with barely a sound.

  The long corridor was almost completely dark, but low lights appeared from the molding along the bottom of the walkway. The windows were now part of the building, and not even a crack of daylight shone through the haphazard boards.

  “Abby?” Chad announced.

  He was surprised that his voice seemed weak and small. He wasn’t expecting to play hide and seek in an old building, and now his nerves had transformed into anxious energy.

  A thought suddenly occurred to him, this place would make a perfect location for a surprise party. His birthday was next week. That welcoming thought soon faded. He licked his dry lips, moved his chalky tongue, and he realized that his palm left a sweaty residue around the pistol.

  “Okay, you got me.” He tried to sound casual. “I followed the bread crumbs.”