Heartbeats of a Killer

by Michael Merson

  “Are you okay?” Jaxson asked as he knelt beside his friend and then placed his hand under his back to help him up.

  “Yeah. I am now.” Axel answered.

  “Good,” Jaxson stated as he slapped Axel on the back.

  “How’s Amanda?”

  “Physically, she looked okay when I passed by her. I think she’s probably scared. Jaxson answered.

  The two men walked back to Amanda, and Jaxson untied her from her bindings. Axel dropped beside her on the ground. Amanda reached for him, and he pulled her into his arms.

  “I’ll call everyone. You take care of her,” Jaxson instructed as he slowly walked back down the tunnel toward Axel’s car.

  Jaxson had been off the medication for about four hours. That was when Axel showed up in his hospital room with a plan to save Amanda. He still had some lingering effects from the medication. His side hurt, and he winced in pain as he walked and breathed in and out very slowly. He didn’t know if Axel’s plan would work, but he knew he had to come through for him no matter the cost to himself or his career.

  “Is it over?” Amanda asked.

  “It is,” Axel answered.

  Epilogue

  Jaxson found that the instructions to the house were easy to follow, and after a short drive from Colorado Springs, he and Brandi were pulling up to the home of Axel Frost. Jaxson was in no hurry to get back to work, and Axel had invited him and his plus one to his house for a party. Besides, Jaxson had a month off from work and needed to find something to do. A ‘thirty-day vacation’ wasn’t his idea. It was the FBI’s idea in response to his behavior during the PPK investigation. Jaxson, at first, was upset over the thirty-day suspension. But on the day that he was officially released from the hospital, he received a visit from the Special Agent in Charge of the BAU. They wanted him in the unit, but he still had to be disciplined for his unusual behavior.

  There were other cars in the driveway of Axel’s home, and Jaxson saw a man, a woman, and two small girls walking into the garage. He and Brandi got out of the car and made their way into the house through the garage behind the others that they saw going inside.

  “Hey everybody,” Axel said after opening the door.

  He smiled and invited everyone inside. When Jaxson entered, the two men looked at each other, smiled, and then hugged. No words needed to be said. Jaxson then introduced Brandi to his friend. Brandi said hello and then made her way inside carrying a dessert dish. She walked over to the kitchen counter and put it down and was greeted by Jill. Axel and Jaxson stood there for a moment talking.

  “How are you feeling?” Axel asked.

  “I should be asking you the same thing,” Jaxson answered.

  “I’m good. A little stiff but good. The bullet went straight through. I should be up and around and back to work in about a month,” Axel explained.

  “What about you?” Axel asked as they moved their conversation into the kitchen.

  “About the same, but my month off isn’t by choice.”

  “Yeah. I heard, but I also heard that you’ve been asked to join the BAU.”

  “I was,” Jaxson answered happily.

  “Good for you. By the way, who’s Lisa?” Axel asked.

  “Lisa? What about Lisa?” Jaxson asked.

  “You mentioned her name before you passed out in the hospital.”

  “Lisa is was my sister. She…” Jaxson began to explain just as Amanda walked up.

  Amanda stood next to Axel and placed her arm behind his back and then kissed his cheek.

  “Is this the famous FBI Profiler, Jaxson Locke that I’ve heard so much about?” Amanda asked.

  “I wouldn’t say famous, but yes. I’m Jaxson.”

  “Well you may not be famous now, but people who are good profilers usually become famous. Some even work on television after their careers in the FBI.”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see then,” Jaxson responded.

  The invited guests moved about the home eating and drinking while the baseball game played in the background on the television. The party lasted into the night. Jaxson and Brandi were the last ones to leave. Axel walked the two of them out to their car to say goodbye.

  “What are your plans after the weekend?” Axel asked Jaxson after he opened the door for Brandi to get into the passenger seat.

  “I’m actually going to the Bahamas on Monday with Brandi for a week.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. But I’ll be back to check out what Colorado has to offer the week after.”

  “Good. The bedroom upstairs needs someone to stay in it for a few weeks.”

  “Sounds good, Axel,” Jaxson said before climbing into his car and driving away toward a new adventure.

  Amanda was waiting for Axel at the door, and when he walked inside, she hugged him tightly. The two kissed passionately for a few moments in the kitchen until she slowly backed away. Axel stood there and just watched her as she sauntered toward the bedroom. When she reached the bedroom door, she turned to him, pulled her spaghetti dress straps down off her shoulders, and allowed her summer dress to fall to the floor. Axel stood there, frozen with his eyes wide open.

  “I believe the term you’re looking for is Commando!”

  Prologue

  Sunday April 18, 1965

  It was a cool April evening in 1965. The loud music and laughter from the invited guests, the whos-who, and well-to-do of North Carolina, could be heard in the distance. Delia Snipes looked back once at the old plantation home that bordered Taylor Creek. She was tired, intoxicated, and ready for bed. Her red high heel shoes made her feet ache, and the flower print, form-fitting dress Delia wore was way too tight. Delia felt more comfortable in a pair of jeans and a loose shirt, but the man who requested her presence this evening required that she dress how he wanted.

  Ben Arrington made all the girls, who were of mixed race, dress how he desired. The lights from the house were but a small glimmer from the long, dark driveway that led to the main road. The shadow figures of the drunk politicians, businessmen, and party ‘treats’ like Delia Snipes danced passed the windows to the beat of the Rolling Stones.

  The house belonged to the Arrington family of Beaufort, North Carolina. To visitors of the area, the home was described as an Antebellum early American plantation home. It was white, with tall pillars that supported the roof that extended over a large ground level balcony. To folks living in the area, especially black folks, it was known as the Old Klan House on Taylor Creek.

  Delia had made an early exit from the Gentlemen’s Social through the servant entrance in the back. She was satisfied with the hundred dollars she had earned servicing the wealthy white men who were attending the Social. Delia never gave much thought to the things she did for the men nor to their special requests at these parties. Besides, she was not paid to ask questions. After all, she believed it was a necessary means to an end. After tonight she had enough money to move herself, her sister, and her mother to Virginia Beach where she hoped they could all find work and a different life. Maybe they would head further away to Pennsylvania where her aunt could help her get a job in a factory. Either way, she and her family would be leaving Beaufort just as quickly as she had left the Social tonight.

  Delia allowed her intoxicated mind to drift towards thoughts of Virginia and Pennsylvania as she slowly staggered down the driveway in the direction of the main road. The driveway was long and dark. It was best described as more of a tunnel of Spanish Moss that hung overhead from the rows of trees that lined both sides of the gravel driveway. The further Delia walked from the house, the darker it was. She always felt uneasy about the area. Delia was still more comfortable on the main road. From there she hoped to catch a ride with the workers heading to the docks.

  Suddenly the feeling of someone watching her caused her to stop. She stood motionless and listened for a moment. She squinted her eyes as she peered between the trees into the dark brush on both sides of the drive.

&nbs
p; There ain’t nothin’ or nobody out here but you and God! Stop imagining things. You just drunk! Slowly, she began to walk once more while singing Shirley Ellis’ new hit song, The Name Game.

  “Shirley, Shirley, Shirley Bo-ber-ley, bo-na-na fanna… Who dat?” Delia screamed. She turned around quickly. She looked for who or what had ruffled the bushes behind the trees off to her left.

  “I know somebody there! Is that you Charlie White? I’m done for the night and I ain’t giving you no special attention. I’m goin’ go home! Besides, you ain’t never got money,” Delia screamed out loud.

  She was afraid, and she stood quietly, as the waves from Taylor Creek lapped against the shoreline. Still frightened, Delia turned and slowly began to walk once more.

  “Shirley, Shirley, Shirley Bo-ber-ley…” was all Delia could say before being struck in the head from behind by a heavy object. She didn’t remember falling to the ground, but soon she realized that she was lying on the ground looking through a small opening in the Spanish Moss at the moon. Warm streams of blood trickled down her cheek and into her eyes, and the moon faded away as the darkness overtook the light.

  Chapter 1

  Friday, May 31st

  Agent Locke entered the town of Beaufort, North Carolina shortly before five o’clock in the afternoon and quickly found the Sheriff’s Office. He parked in the visitors’ parking lot and made his way inside. He wasn’t sure if he would find anyone in the office so late in the day on a Friday. Once inside, Agent Locke was greeted by a tall, thin, young man in his twenties with a strong Southern accent.

  “May I help you?” He asked.

  “I’m here to see Sheriff Maggie Turner. I believe that she’s expecting me.”

  “I’ll go see if she’s ready for you.”

  Agent Locke waited in the lobby where he saw a wall dedicated to the deputies that were killed in the line of duty. At the top was Sheriff Dwight Carter. Agent Locke recognized the name from the one in the file that he carried. He was reading the circumstances surrounding Carter’s death when the side door next to the lobby opened.

  “Sheriff Turner will see you now,” the young man said as he held the door open.

  Locke followed the man down a short hallway to the office at the end. When he entered the office, Sheriff Turner was sitting at her desk. Upon seeing Agent Locke, she stood, walked around from behind her desk, and approached him while extending her hand.

  “I’m Sheriff Turner,” she said as she shook Locke’s hand.

  “I’m Agent Locke with the FBI,” he said while displaying his credentials.

  “Please have a seat,” she said as she gestured to the chair on the other side of her desk.

  “I’m here to recover a car...” Locke started to say.

  “Yes, I know. The very popular and very collectible car that belonged to Agent Nathan Emerson that we now have it in our impound lot,” she said interrupting.

  “Right. I was hoping to look at it this evening,” Locke added.

  “That won’t be possible. My guys have already gone home for the evening, but you’re more than welcome to look at it tomorrow. I have already scheduled one of the fellas to be there for you in the morning.”

  “Well, okay then. I guess I’ll find a place to stay the night and…”

  “I booked you a room at the Beaufort Bed and Breakfast. It’s at 231 Ann Street. The Sheriff’s Office is picking up the tab for your stay this evening.”

  “All right. Do you know where I can find…”

  “Mrs. Josephine Arrington and Mr. William Turner?” She said interrupting once more.

  “Yes,” he answered with a confused look on his face.

  “Josephine goes by Stormie, and William Turner, my father, would rather be called Will,” she stated and stood up.

  “They’re both over at Mrs. Stormie’s home on Taylor Creek. You can follow me over there,” she explained as she led him out the door.

  “Do you have any questions so far?” She asked as they walked out to the parking lot.

  “Do you know where I can find Agent Nathan Emerson?” He asked, comically.

  “No, but maybe you’ll find him before you leave,” she remarked as she got in her car.

  “Now, just follow me.”

  Agent Locke did as he was instructed, and after a short drive behind the Beaufort County Sheriff’s car, he found himself pulling into a long driveway that led to a beautiful home on the water. As he got closer, he saw two people sitting on the porch. Agent Locke parked beside Sheriff Turner. He then got out of the car, followed her up the steps, and onto the porch.

  “Hi, Mrs. Stormie, Daddy,” she said to the two of them.

  “This is Agent Jaxson Locke with the FBI, and he wanted to come and speak to the two of you.”

  Agent Locke reached out his hand and greeted the two of them. Mr. Turner was an elderly black man in his sixties who was dressed well and spoke with a deep voice. Mrs. Stormie was older and based on the information in the file, Agent Locke knew that she was eighty-three years old. She was a small and frail woman, but she appeared to get around better than most people her age.

  “Please have a seat,” Stormie said and gestured for him to sit in the empty chair across from them.

  “I’m here to…”

  “To recover Agent Emerson’s car that the department of transportation road crew found on Wednesday over where they’re putting in the new highway,” Will responded interrupting Agent Locke.

  Like father, like daughter. At least she comes by it naturally, Locke thought to himself.

  “Yes, sir, I am,” he answered.

  “What can we help you with Agent Locke?” Stormie asked.

  “Is there anything you can tell me that’s not in this file?” Locke asked as he held up the thick folder.

  “No, I don’t think there is,” Stormie answered and then slowly looked over at Will.

  “I agree. I don’t think we left anything out when we spoke to the other agents that were here questioning everyone in 1965,” Will added.

  “I just thought maybe you could think of a reason why he left his car here instead of taking it with him,” Locke stated.

  “I have no idea. He did leave in a hurry.” Stormie said and then slowly turned away and looked out toward the water.

  “He came here to look into the deaths of those young girls, and the next thing we know everything was turned upside down, and he got out of town as quickly as he could,” Will added when he noticed Stormie looking away.

  “Well, I don’t think they have anything to add Agent Locke, but after you look at the car tomorrow and if you find that you have other questions then just reach out. We’ll see if we can help,” Sheriff Turner said as she stood up, hinting to Agent Locke that it was time for them to leave.

  “No. I can’t think of anything right now,” Agent Locke said as he stood.

  He thanked the two of them for their time and followed Sheriff Turner back to the cars. She gave him directions to the bed and breakfast and to the County Impound lot where he could find the car. He thanked her for her time as well, and then he made his way over to the bed and breakfast. He pulled into a parking spot at the Beaufort Bed and Breakfast. He entered the converted Victorian-style home and checked in with the front desk.

  After unpacking and cleaning up, he began reading over the file once more. Jaxson questioned his supervisor before leaving Charlotte as to why he was being sent to recover a car that belonged to an FBI agent who disappeared in 1965. His caseload usually involved unsolvable cases or cases where there were no leads. Jaxson had a sense about him that most investigators did not; he had the natural ability to notice things that other people missed.

  Jaxson didn’t spend much time on the file before having to rush out to Beaufort. He did, however, go over the file concerning Agent Emerson. Jaxson knew that Emerson was wanted for the murder of two, maybe three people. The car that the road crew found belonged to Agent Emerson who had come to Beaufort on his own accord and condu
cted an unauthorized investigation into the deaths of three young girls of color in 1965. The current media attention surrounding this case has been centered on the discovery of his personal car, an original 1965 Shelby 350. Car collectors had reached out to the FBI concerning the rare automobile. They wanted to know what was to become of the car once the FBI was finished with it. The town was full of media personnel waiting to get a photo of the rare find.

  Jaxson ordered a pizza from a local pizzeria and sat at the small table in his room reading over the file about Agent Emerson. He learned that Agent Emerson went to Oklahoma and played in the Orange Bowl in 1958. After graduation, he went to law school at Duke.

  How odd, Jaxson thought to himself.

  He also learned that Agent Emerson was involved in some highly publicized civil rights cases in the 60s. Jaxson sat back in the chair and started thinking. The things Emerson was accused of and the things he was a part of in his short career weren't adding up. He then focused on reading the reports from the investigating FBI agents, the sheriff, and the coroner, and once more things didn’t add up. They were also very brief. They contained little information about the deaths of the girls, the people Emerson had killed, and the disappearance of Agent Emerson. One thing that the FBI agents’ and the sheriff’s reports had in common was the guilt of one person; Agent Nathan Emerson, who suddenly disappeared into thin air leaving a rare car in the woods.

  Jaxson finally moved onto the few photos that were available and had not been destroyed or misplaced in the past fifty-plus years. He reviewed autopsy photos, crime scene photos, and victim photos from the hospital. There were photos of young Stormie and Benjamin Arrington in the hospital, recovering from their extensive injuries. At about twelve or one o’clock, Jaxson finally decided to go to bed. After laying there for about thirty minutes thinking about the case, he eventually fell asleep.