Book One - Chapter Two
The Quick Call
“Hey, Baker. Got a few minutes?”
“Sure, Ed. I’m only up to my ass in blood. What’s up?”
“I have something special to show you. Right across the street from you. Apartment 230.”
“Okay. I’m just finishing a few loose ends. I’ll be there in five to ten.”
Three Minutes Ago
At the catholic church of St. Peter’s, a man with labored breath, stepped inside the church, and bent to one knee, making the sign of the cross with his right hand. He then stood erect and walked over to a confessional booth. He opened the door, sat down, and waited a few minutes.
On the other side of a screen, a door opened, and a priest sat down.
“Good evening. How may I help you?’
“Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.”
“Sinned in what way, my son?”
“I have broken one of God’s, the Father’s commandments.”
“I see. Which commandment is this?”
“Father, I have killed. Two people tonight.”
Silence.
“Father, did you hear me? I said I killed two people.”
“Yes, I heard you. By all that is holy, I am not allowed to divulge this confession with the police. Do you understand this? This confession in between you and me; and Jesus Christ, in the name of the Father.”
“Sure, I do. That’s why I came here.” The voice, which was first unsteady and high-pitched, now became low and ominous. “I can get Christ’s forgiveness through you, and I will be absolved of all wrongdoing.”
“It isn’t as simple as that. We must pray together. Then you, of your own volition, must turn yourself in. It is the only way to be truly forgiven by Christ and the Father. My son, as the gospel is known, and by it, men were saved through faith, since the very beginning of time. Let us now pray that we will find a path that‒‒”
“Bullshit, bullshit; BULL-FUCKING-SHIT! I ought to slice your fucking throat right here, right now!”
Silence again.
The door opened, then banged closed.
He was gone.
At the Latest Scene
“Busy night, huh, Baker?”
“Seems that way, Ed. What do we have here?”
“A fresh kill.
“A Mrs. Ethel Mattingly, seventy-eight. Retired seamstress, widow over ten years. She has one son who lives on the other side of the coast where all the surfers coin those stupid phrases. She lived here alone. Moderate lifestyle for a woman her age, nothing fancy.
“I put in a call to have the neighborhood patrolled. If they spot anyone suspicious, and like the norm; if he or she looks or acts suspicious, we pull them in for questioning.
“But whoever this is, they have some big balls, or tits.”
Baker pulled the sheet back, Ed covered Mrs. Mattingly with to just below her hips.
“Another one. Just like the victim across the street. Seems our boy‒‒”
“Or girl,” said Ed, half smiling.
“… or girl, is making the rounds tonight and quickly. What do you make of the time of death?”
“My guess, until the F-Team shows, which should be them I hear coming now. I’d say within twelve to twenty, as in minutes. But, Baker, that isn’t all.” Ed pointed at the victim’s face.
Baker leaned closer and looked at the face and upon closer inspection, saw blood slowly tearing from her eyes and matted the sides of Mrs. Mattingly’s hair above her ears.
With the apartment door wide open, the F-Team walked in and immediately set up shop, and started taking pictures, dusting the living room for prints, looking for hair fibers, and anything else to give them clues as to who the killer is.
Reaching for a pair of medical gloves from her jacket pocket, she pulled a pen from her shirt pocket and edged it under one eyelid. Lifting it back, she flinched backward for a second.
“Puts a stutter in your step, huh? He or she cut both eyes out, and to make this even stranger; he or she must have taken the eyes, because they aren’t anywhere to be found.”
“Great. Now we have a souvenir collector and a sick mind all wrapped up in one neat package: running around Montie in some damn place. We need to nail this perp quick.”
“It doesn’t end there though. The hits keep rolling in. Here is what was tacked to her chest.”
Ed held up an evidence bag, and Baker read what was inside.
LIVE ON EES.
“My first thought was monkey-see, monkey-do, but the markings are just too fresh to be anything other than the same person.”
“Ed, we have an intensely shrewd and perhaps insane person at the same time we are dealing with.”
Baker walked to the two front windows of Mrs. Mattingly’s apartment and looked out across the way. She realized then what the message really meant.
“Ed, look at this.”
He looked in the same direction as she did.
“If that don’t beat all. Straight across from her. Same floor. She saw the whole damn thing. That’s why she called 911. That’s why I came over here to interview her. I was too late, and maybe by minutes; but he or she can’t be that far ahead of us.”
“The even sadder part, he had seen her watching. Somehow, he figured out exactly which apartment she was in and gained entrance, obviously forced. I would say he nearly kicked it off its hinges, and he, or she, wasn’t looking for conversation.
“You know what they say about things coming in three’s, Ed? Whoever killed these people, probably has one more to kill. Both Mrs. Mattingly and Arnold Kilpatrick both had notes attached to them.”
“You’re thinking that next person won’t have a hearing problem.”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
As she stared out across the way, then back at Mrs. Mattingly, now being photographed, and Carl and crew bagging and tagging potential evidence; Carl nodded her way with the understanding once he got any hits back on what they’ve collected, he would let her know. Both notes would be given to a handwriting expert for analysis.
The apartment, like the one across the street, was gone over with a fine-tooth comb, as the saying goes. Nothing would be left unturned.
Including the message.
Another Quick Call – 10:35 p.m.
“Stevie, I won’t be home until around midnight, I’m afraid. It’s been a rough night. If you’re awake when I get in, fine. If not, we’ll go out tomorrow morning for an early breakfast. I love you.”
She gets Stevie every other summer and every other major holiday for two weeks. This year she would have him for Christmas.
Mark couldn’t handle her being a cop.
Hell, sometimes, neither could she.
Book One - Chapter One
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible
New Living Testament, copyright ©1996, 2004
Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishing, Inc.
Quotations used by permission from Bartleby.com ©1993-2004
__________
Foreword
This is the first in a series of books with a vast number of characters.
Janis Baker, a Lieutenant with the Montie Police Department, is a divorced mother who shares custody with her son.
On most any given day, the city of Montie is a quiet city. There will always be the occasional public drunk or speeder, and yes, people and places get robbed. Suicides, domestic disputes, and barroom fights happen.
It has been five years since an attempted bank robbery; two years since anyone went missing, and every now and then, an unexplained murder will take place,
Montie goes way back in the history books, but the events that are about to take place will rewrite Montie’s history for a long time to come.
In small steps, Lieutenant Janis Baker, and her partner, Ed Manning, work on unraveling a series of brutal murders. Murders that lead Baker and Manning, to one dead end after another.
One of those dead ends being that Baker becomes a target.
The killer is smart enough to leave no clues as to his identity and has his own code of justice.
The action is fast paced.
Welcome to Montie, where every day is more than just an adventure.
__________
Prelude
A young boy, age 10, in the state of Maine, was sentenced to a mental hospital for extensive evaluation for setting a fire that killed his parents in 1995.
A young girl, age 10, lost her parents to a tragedy, also in 1995.
Neither one knew at the time their lives would intertwine.
She went on in later years to get married and have a son and attend the police academy.
Twenty years after he was admitted to the institution, he escaped. What would become of him would change both their lives forever.
__________
Death hath so many doors to let out life.
The Custom of the Country. Act II. Sc. 2.
Beaumont and Fletcher
Godly people find life,
evil people find death.
Proverbs 11:19
I open every door and put every evil person
I can find where they belong‒‒in hell.
Freddy
__________
Friday - May 14th - 9:07 p.m.
The crime scene unit had just finished and were leaving the Marcus Arms Apartments where a dead body had been discovered.
The victim: Arnold Kilpatrick, retired two-star Army general, formerly attached with the 317thAirborne Division, was found face up on his living room floor. A widower for seven years, has left two sons and one daughter behind, who would be notified prior to the autopsy if possible.
The general was a mess.
His throat was slit with a smooth-edged blade, and a large X-shaped pattern that went from left shoulder to right hip, and right shoulder to left hip, had literally opened up his chest. The two slash grooves were three inches deep. Probably done after the throat. There appeared to be little struggle, giving Lieutenant Janis Baker the impression the general probably knew the perp.
Carl Macklin, Senior Forensic Pathologist, explained to her that he would have all the prints found, numbered, and identified within a few hours. The scene provided no hair samples anywhere in the apartment that appeared different from the general’s gray hair that was now a bloody mess across his chest. His head had been shaved bald. There didn’t appear to be any skin residue or blood marks under the victim’s fingernails to indicate a struggle, but scrapings were taken just the same.
There was a note attached to the victim’s body.
LIVE ON RAEH.
Lieutenant Baker had a strong suspicion they wouldn’t find the perp’s prints anywhere.
Ten Minutes Earlier
Mrs. Mattingly heard a knock on the door.
“Yes? Who is it?”
“The night janitor, miss. I need to check the plumbing in all of the bathrooms on this floor.”
Mrs. Mattingly opened her door one inch to see who it was. She wasn’t aware her building even had a janitor, especially one at night.
She was still scared and shaking over what she had seen across from her at the Marcus Arms Apartments. That poor man being killed! She knew it was her civic duty to call the police right away. What frightened her most; she thought she recognized the killer. That made it all the worse for she thought him to be a good and justly man.
What she didn’t realize is that the killer saw her, too.
The slight opening of the door was all it took.
The night janitor kicked the door back, causing Mrs. Mattingly to stumble backward and fell to the floor. She was seventy-eight.
“Oh, my heavens! It is you! I don’t believe it!”
“Believe what you want, you old bitch! I’m the last thing you’ll ever see.”
He bent down overtop her and swiftly sliced her throat, and hurriedly made the sweeping arcs of the X across her chest, and then spent a few moments with her eyes.
He popped them from her sockets with the tip of his blade, and then placed them in his pocket, underneath a plastic raincoat covered in blood. He then scribbled a note with his left hand, writing the words backward.
LIVE ON EES.
When Your Back Is Against the Wall
Lost in a maelstrom,
floundering in a sea of rage,
heaven’s black as hell is red,
no road to find,
no escape awaiting you,
no hope in sight
and caring is useless.
remember one thing—your life.
Your life is your hope.
Fight against the raging sea,
swim, kick your way to shore,
look to the shoreline,
the road is there,
keep fighting to get there,
never give in to the voices,
never give up you will find hope,
for heaven will break into a glimmer of light,
and hell cannot touch the soul
that still believes hope is alive … somewhere.
Follow or Not to Follow
The choice is yours, not mine. I do poetry, short stories and in the past, have participated in two group novels. Peruse my page and judge for yourself if I am worth your time.
One thing I will put here; after eight years on Prose, I have read incredible work from other writers. Personally, that is the best way to decide who to follow, or not.
A Time to Sow
In Fall, seeds planted.
In Winter, seeds begin growth.
In Spring, the ground blooms with life.
Go to the meadow,
Your eyes behold nature's realm,
Nature brings color.
Tulips, irises,
A plethora of colors,
It gives rise to peace.
Bulbs start homely,
They need little and give back much,
Spring, when blossoms form.
From a petal grows,
From a heart does beat gently,
Both bring softness.
I open every door and put every evil person I can find where they belong‒‒in hell. Freddy
Friday - May 14th - 9:07 p.m.
The crime scene unit had just finished and were leaving the Marcus Arms Apartments where a dead body had been discovered.
The victim: Arnold Kilpatrick, retired two-star Army general, formerly attached with the 317thAirborne Division, was found face up on his living room floor. A widower for seven years, has left two sons and one daughter behind, who would be notified prior to the autopsy if possible.
The general was a mess.
His throat was slit with a smooth-edged blade, and a large X-shaped pattern that went from left shoulder to right hip, and right shoulder to left hip, had opened his chest. The two slash grooves were three inches deep. Probably done after the throat. There appeared to be little struggle, giving Lieutenant Janis Baker the impression, the general knew the perp.
Carl Macklin, Senior Forensic Pathologist, explained to her that he would have all the prints found, numbered, and identified within a few hours. The scene provided no hair samples anywhere in the apartment that appeared different from the general’s gray hair that was now a bloody mess across his chest. His head had been shaved bald. There didn’t appear to be any skin residue or blood marks under the victim’s fingernails to indicate a struggle, but scrapings were taken just the same.
There was a note attached to the victim’s body.
LIVE ON RAEH.
Lieutenant Baker had a strong suspicion they wouldn’t find the perp’s prints anywhere.
Across the Years
Growing up in the sixties knowing in your heart of hearts you are gay, and lesbian doesn't make for a recipe made in heaven. You have family values to contend with, snide remarks from people you thought were your friends, and top that off with societal values, and well, this does not make the road taken anything but easy. But wait! There is more. Racial prejudice.
You see, David is black, and Ronaldo is Hispanic. Then there is Francine who is white, and Monica who is of Italian heritage. They all went to the same school. At fifteen, they all suffered the same ethnic slurs, and sometimes physical beatings for who and what they knew they were. It wasn't about being different. It was about being an individual with the right to make choices. The beauty in this, they also knew they weren't the only ones to face the insurmountable odds put before them to have the life they knew they were destined for.
But let us fast forward to a better time, a better place. A time where now, David, Renaldo, Francine, and Monica could, finally, do the unthinkable and marry. Thirty years of changes brought them together legally, even if they had been living with one another all this time. It was a time of celebration, joy, tears and the knowing with their faith and belief in each other and themselves, in the end it was worth all the obstacles they lived through.
They were two couples among thousands who celebrated. They were among hundreds of couples who adopted children, whom they raised as any other parent normally would, to allow their children choices of who they wanted to be and become.
Let us fast forward to a somber, if not heart-wrenching moment in time. Sixty-five years have gone by the wayside since this first started. Today, two souls have gone to heaven. Ronaldo and Francine have passed onto another side of life that holds no misgivings. Before the day has passed, with tears of love and remembrance, both David and Monica, alongside their children (mostly grown), walk together and share the times of their lives, both knowing one day they will be reunited.
It is here where we could put this to an end, already suspecting what the outcome will be, but I want to end this with one thing. We are all different in one way or another. But we all want one thing in life. To be accepted for who we are. Straight? Okay. Gay or lesbian? Okay. Bi-sexual or transgender? Okay.
Live your life. Let other people live theirs.
The Devil wears a friendly smile, and gloats over your gullibility.
H walks in daylight like ordinary people,
sizing up who he will take next.
Matters not your wealth,
your poorness,
The friends you have,
the work you do.
His job ... recruit minions for his domain.
To keep the fires burning,
as you sweat, toil, scream.
And you will scream.
It's in the contract you never signed.
My Last Words (Maybe)
No fanfare.
No explanation needed.
Last words:
"I had a good run. Perhaps now, I will fly."
Of course, if I die in my sleep no one will know my dream words.
Write - Print - Type - Trash - Start Over
The title pretty much says it all.
I start with a thought and a blank page in hopes of creating that end all do all story. You know, the one you can't put down, and even when you do, you pick it up a week later and read it again.
I have yet to create that story but my waste basket next to my desk is brimming with wrinkled, crunched sheets of paper. Some have a sentence, some, a paragraph. I think there might be ten or twelve discarded pages with one or two words.
I have the thoughts, the ideas, the characters, and the plot but for some reason I can't get up the steam to get in a strong enough gear to make it flow.
I ask myself, "Is my head in the right place?" Do I want to introduce Donavon right away or later? He's central as the villain who has a thing for Jeanette who is blind. Then there is David, Jeanette's brother, a cop looking for the "Sunset Killer" which just happens to be Donavon. Basic plot. Good guy, bad guy, innocent victim. Right? But is she innocent?
That's where I get flustered/ I want to give her a vested interest to the criminal mind with a twist. I just can't figure out how to set up a blind girl for that type of character.
And that's where I'm at. What to do, what to do.
I may do what I've done with dozens of other ideas over the years and shelve the idea completely or leave it on the backburner for a couple of months and try it again.
Meantime, I must empty my waste basket. It's starting to scare me.