After the Evil – A Jake Roberts Novel (Book 1) (15 page)

“SHOOT HIM!”

He thought the suggestion might give the runner
something to consider, but it only made him run faster. Sirens
wailed from at least three other directions, but none of those
entering into the race were close enough to assist. Harmon shouted
directions and progress into his handheld radio. As she ran, Mika
saw reflections of red and blue in windows and against buildings.
Backup was near, but her lungs were giving out. She slowed to a
stop. She bent over and struggled to catch her breath. Harmon came
up fast and passed her. She didn’t see the grin on his face. A
patrol car pulled up alongside Mika. She lunged inside the open
rear door. In a desperate effort to continue the pursuit, she
shouted and pointed in the direction she thought the runner had
gone.

A small army of law enforcement officers disrupted
the quiet neighborhood of Dr. and Mrs. Abrams as the search took on
major proportions. The K-9 unit arrived to track the fresh scent.
The chopper began a circular search pattern overhead. The runner
knew he couldn’t out run a radio. There had to be some place to
hide. Although he possessed strong lungs, swift moves, and great
cunning, even the runner knew how badly he needed a break in the
action. As he turned the corner, shelter from the ongoing pursuit
came in the form of a small Presbyterian church. Frantically
searching the exterior of the church, he found an unlocked door and
went inside. He locked the door behind him.

Harmon had to give up. He had lost sight of the
runner shortly after Mika did, and staggered to a stop. Still
straining for breath, he managed to radio he had lost the prey. For
several miles in all directions, a perimeter was established.
Buildings, residences, vehicles and foliage were searched. A
command center was established and Mika began broadcasting details,
as she knew them. As I drove up Fairchild was getting out of a
black and white.

Mika’s tone was cold.

“Nice to see you could make it, Jake, I thought you
would be interrogating Ms. Powers again.”

“What do you want from me?”

While Mika glares back, I think about a sign I saw
while racing here. It had a black background with white letters
that simply said “Will the road you’re on get you to my place?” It
was signed, “God.” Who could have known the runner had taken the
advice. Mika rambled at Ed.

“All I saw was the gray shirt over jeans and the
blond hair. He had a muscular build like he’s spent a lot of time
on a weight bench.”

Her eyebrows rose with an apparent respect for the
perp’s athletic abilities.

“And he’s fast, real fast, he’s got cheetah in his
blood. He was in the house, didn’t say a word, just bolted. The guy
ran for a reason. He may just be some sick curious type, but I want
to hear that from him.”

The radios were alive with call-ins. We could hear
K-9 confirm their dogs had the scent. Fairchild let everyone else
fill in the blanks. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see
Harmon. Winded, he crouched over with hands on his knees.

“Are you going to make it?”

Harmon gave me a disappointed look because the guy
wasn’t in custody. He was also concerned eating too many donuts
over the years had slowed him down a lot.

“I should have had him man, I should’ve had him. The
white boy was fast. We could have used him in that game against the
Gators.”

Football was Harmon’s life before he signed on with
the department. He had scholarships to all of the Big Ten schools
right up until his ankle was blown out. Fairchild chimed in.

“He’s still in the area. He couldn’t have gotten too
far. You two ran him to death, and I’m sure he’s hiding out until
he can get his second wind.”

Fairchild surveyed the surroundings and personnel
present. More calls came in. Everyone was convinced the runner was
still inside the net. The guys in the chopper reported there was no
movement outside the perimeter. Patrol officers canvassed
witnesses, and continued searching all vehicles in the area. We
knew if enough rocks were turned over, he would be under one.

The church was empty. The side door was usually left
open whenever the pastor was attending to church business. The
runner proceeded into the vestibule, but didn’t see anyone. He
marveled at the beauty of the stained glass. The runner stood
beneath a statue of Jesus Christ who died to save all of mankind.
The runner knew he only had a few good deeds. He knew they were not
enough for him to be rewarded in heaven. He had no misgivings about
those pursuing him. They were anxious to send him to hell.

I’m just a gurney ride away.

He subconsciously grabbed the inverted bleeding
cross on the chain around his neck. Inverted crucifixion was a
harsher way to die. The heart would palpitate, while the victim
choked on his or her own blood.

Evil has never disappointed me.

He heard a door creak open. He dropped down low. The
singing and humming emanating from the pastor grew louder. Scanning
over the pews, the runner watched as the pastor placed a large vase
with a bouquet of roses on the altar. The man of the cloth took
several steps back to observe the balance of the scene. He fell
forward as the blow struck the back of his head, and lost
consciousness immediately. Only the grace of God kept him
alive.

“I could kill you and violate you. What goes around;
comes around.”

The smug look on his face, and the words spoke
volumes about the runner’s disdain for the clergy. He believed they
allowed evil to go unpunished. The clergy were the real sinners.
The time constraints required that he escape, so he decided against
both killing the pastor and violating him. Instead, he took the
pastor’s white collar and black cassock. The fit was close enough
for him to pass.

“I’ll be waiting for you in hell.”

He walked out of the church leaving the pastor lying
on the floor unconscious.

* * *

The man wearing the white collar was driving Pastor
McMichaels’ new Lincoln Town Car. An officer signaled for the
driver of the vehicle to come to a complete stop. He smiled and
tried to present an accommodating attitude to the officer. He knew
he had to play the cop to effect his escape. The officer stooped
down to look inside the Lincoln.

“Where are you coming from, Father?”

“Antioch Presbyterian, officer.”

“
Pastor
Powers, my son. Fathers are in the
Catholic faith. And the church is a few blocks that way.”

“Yes Pastor, I know where it is. Where’s Pastor
McMichaels?”

“Vacation officer, he’s finally taken a
well-deserved vacation. We’ve been encouraging him for years to
take one, but you know how stubborn he can be. I’m keeping an eye
on the flock while he’s away.”

The runner smiled to reinforce the charade, and he
quizzed the officer.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re looking for a man wearing blue jeans and a
gray shirt. He has blond hair like yours.”

“This person you’re looking for, is he
dangerous?

“We just want to talk to him is all.”

“You must
really
want to talk to him judging
from all of the commotion.”

The officer’s partner indicated he thought the
pastor was okay to leave and waved for him to move on. Runner put
the car in drive, and held the brake.

“Good luck officer, I hope you find your man. God be
with you.”

With his escape assured, the runner tossed the white
collar out of the driver’s side window a little over a mile down
the road.

* * *

It had been days and still no sign of the runner.
The only report filed was from a Presbyterian minister who had been
assaulted and stripped, inside a church in the area of the search.
We didn’t know if there was a connection. We haven’t been able to
find, or accidentally stumble onto anything tangible, that could
end the “Who’s Your Daddy” killing spree. Everyone, except Ed, was
cranky. Mika didn’t say much anymore. Harmon grumbled all the time.
At least with Lori, I had someone to lean on. Seeing her over the
past week had been difficult because of her flights, and my work on
the case. While the quantity of time we spent together was meager,
the quality of the time was abundant. We talked forever on the
phone to try to make up for the separation.

Most times, a significant other can’t deal with
police work, but Lori remained interested in mine. She inquired
about any progress in the investigation, and cared about my well
being out on the streets. While she was there for me, I was there
for her. She had been through a lot with her ex-husband, years of
physical abuse against her, and sexual abuse of her daughter
leading to Emily’s suicide. It was a heavy cross for her to bear.
She loved being a flight attendant.

On my way to Fairchild’s office, I walk past the
cubicles A few familiar faces pop up. Wendy, our CID secretary,
always asks about my arm. The faces inside Ed’s office aren’t
smiling. A hydraulic lift couldn’t have raised the mood. I’m the
last one to arrive as usual, and close the door behind me.

“Now that we’re all here why don’t you get
started?”

Ed gestures toward Mika who is leaning against the
wall. She looks at each of us with a somber face, and takes a
moment before speaking.

“As you know, it’s been quiet around here. Outside
of the ‘runner’, there haven’t been any more leads on the Abrams’s
investigation. Whoever is behind these killings has covered their
tracks well. He knows police procedures.”

Mika’s sad facial expression deepens.

“The
runner
, whoever he is, or what he has to
do with Abrams’s murder, remains a mystery. He could still be just
some curious, weird guy that gets off on murder scenes.”

She looks at Ed, then to Harmon, and finally at
me.

Harmon tries to console her.

“Hey sometimes, it just doesn’t go the way we want.
We covered all the bases, turned over all the rocks, and
nothing.”

Ed, the forever optimist, interjects.

“It’s not over. We’re going to hear from the killer
again. Sooner or later, Judgment Day will come.”

Harmon breaks back in.

“What about the Vidocq Society? You know, up in
Philadelphia. Do you know about them?”

“They’re forensic professionals who donate their
deductive and scientific talents in order to thaw “cold” cases.
They’re named after Eugene Francois Vidocq, a brilliant criminal
mind turned detective. Their credo is Veritas Veritatum—The Truth
of Truths.”

“They don’t just do ‘cold’ cases. They also take on
open homicides and disappearances. Hey, it’s worth a try,” Harmon
says.

“I’ll give them a call, guess it can’t hurt. I’m
willing to try anything at this point. Anyone know a
clairvoyant?”

Mika looks defeated. I’ve never seen her like this
before. It’s my turn to throw a lifeline in her direction.

“Mika, maybe we should––”

With a wave of her hand, Mika stops me.

“Sometimes, it just isn’t going to happen. I can
deal with it. It’s very frustrating not being able to complete the
puzzle.”

Maybe dad’s right, take the job and fall in love
with you again.

“Anyway, the Feds don’t want me to hang around with
you guys forever, as much as I would like to. They think I’m
picking up bad habits. So, I’m heading back to Quantico this
afternoon. Maybe Wellington...”

She drops her head and gives it a small shake.

“He’s such a jerk.”

The “jerk” part relieves the tension and we all
chuckle, until Ed speaks up.

“Why don’t you tell the FBI to stick it? Come back
here and stay with us.”

He walks over and gives Mika a hug. The rest of us
line up.

“That sounds real good right now, and I’m going to
think real hard about it all the way back to the Academy.”

She has lost a lot of confidence.

“Who knows, because I can’t break this case, they
may find someone more talented to take it on.”

She held up her chin like her dad told her. Ed
smiles and encourages Mika.

“There isn’t anyone more talented in law enforcement
than you Mika, they know it, and we know it.”

“Thanks, Ed.”

She gives back a half-smile. She looks at me and it
feels as if we are breaking up all over again. I still have strong
feelings for her, in spite of my feelings for Lori.

I should have been there for her.

Everyone begins shuffling uncomfortably around the
room. Ed is the first to say goodbye, and again the rest of us
follow. Finally, Mika tries to end the misery.

“I’ve got to get going. I’ll call if anything comes
up, unless it’s in Wellington’s pants.”

Her half-hearted laugh fades.

Thanks, everyone.”

She grabs her things, including the FBI windbreaker
hanging behind the door, and gives us a small wave before leaving
Ed’s office.

As I watch her walk, toward the doors of CID, I want
to say something to stop her, but the double doors close, and the
words never come out. I look at everyone in Ed’s office. The uneasy
silence is a signal for us to return to the desks we’re rarely at.
We failed this time. The murderer is free to kill again. All we can
do is hope that if there is a next victim, some clue will put us
hot on the trail. Harmon leans over to me, while I stare out of the
window, lost in thought about Mika and better times.

“Hungry?”

“No, thirsty, I believe this one calls for an
alcohol sedative.”

* * *

Leaving CID, I feel like empty. Harmon drags
alongside me. Everyone knows to leave us alone. The two front doors
of the precinct swing open, and we make our escape, just like kids
bailing out of school. Outside in the natural light of the sun, I
squint.

“Where now?”

Those two words are all I hear him, the rest are
indiscernible. We keep walking until we reach his car. My inner
detective is tugging on me. I go over the Abrams’ crime scene again
in my head to see if we missed something. There is also the
possibility there wasn’t anything to miss. The killer could just be
that good. The only witness, if he could be called one, was an
eighty-year-old man with poor eyesight, and a bad memory that
thought he saw a silver foreign car leave the driveway about the
time of Abrams’s murder. I’m not sure it was the same day. Harmon
drives in silence until he utters one word. It has nothing to do
with the case.