Book Three: Part 7 - Varied Evil - Chapter 1

Foreword

Spring has arrived. Flowers begin to bloom, the weather friendlier, and life moves on.

To be sure, crime does its own blooming, just as love does.

There is much focus on Ed, Stevie gets something very special; a rash of non-human murders by two good-old boys, a series of robberies throughout New York State, and a copycat killer very similar to Claire Waynestead, is coming to settle a score.

New characters enter the foray; some humor, and anger rises to the surface.

Somewhere in the mish-mash of craziness, Freddy will be in the mix.

Enjoy.

Excerpt

Fred Creasy walked into Room 111, with two boxes of pizza, and two six-packs of beer.

Bertram Ballmate, was sitting on the edge of one of the twin beds, cleaning both rifles. As Bertram often said, “A clean weapon fires a clean shot for a clean kill.”

On the TV, a movie was playing both men have seen several times, ‘Die Hard’. They loved Brue Willis and the way he played a no bull-shit kinda guy.

“Hey Bertram, two large pizzas with the works. And I got us some Bud to chase them down with.”

“Good. I was beginning to wonder if this part of the country had any beer joints to begin with.”

“I hear ya, buddy. But the guy at Bob’s Pizza, said there was a place, two miles straight up from here, so while they were fixing our pizzas, I went and got us some suds.”

“Good. Maybe after we eat, we can take a drive around and get a good feel for this place. See if’n we can help people around here, take care of their pets for them.”

**********

Just as Death and Destruction are never satisfied,

so human desire is never satisfied.

Proverbs 27: 20

The desire of love, Joy:

The desire of life, Peace:

The desire of the soul, Heaven:

The desire of God … a flame-white secret forever.

William (Fiona McLeod) Sharp

Death, and destruction are my two favorite calling cards. Two of my closest friends. Secrets are like surprises. You never know what will be revealed until the time comes. Who am I kidding. The surprise I bring is your last breath of air. The real secret is how long will you struggle to remain alive. Not very.—Freddy

**********

It had almost two months since Daniel died in that terrible accident. A month of many sleepless nights, and many private tears.

For Patrick Davenport, perhaps the most difficult thing for him was the trip to Montie, with Daniel’s parents, to identify Daniel’s remains. He felt as if his insides were going to explode.

Eleven years of pure joy and happiness were suddenly ripped away as if caught up in a spinning vortex, leaving behind a trail of wanton destruction that could never be rebuilt, or replaced.

Patrick’s soul felt destroyed.

Everywhere he looked, everything he touched, reminded him of Daniel. He had to get away. But to where? Where could he go and feel somewhat comfortable? Where could he go to rebuild his life?

He remembered after viewing Daniel’s body with his parents, he later took a long drive around Montie. A rather small, quaint city, seemingly quiet; though he knew part of its history both past and present. As his own mother once told him, “Looks are deceiving. Beware that which tempts you most.”

During that drive, he saw a for-sale sign for an animal clinic, including a small veterinary hospital. He wrote the number down and put it in his wallet.

Remembering it now, he withdrew the paper from his wallet, and ran his fingers over the scrawled numbers.

It wouldn’t do any harm to ask, he thought.

Reaching for his cell-phone, he pressed in the 503 area-code and the rest of the numbers, and on the third ring, a young woman’s voice answered.

“Allgood’s Associates, Marrianne, speaking. How may I help you?”

“Yes, hello. My name is Patrick Davenport, and I’m calling about the property for sale on Murrate; the animal clinic.”

“One moment. I will redirect your call to Allen Vandecamp. Please hold.”

At least it wasn’t a pre-recorded message right off the bat. Press one for a man. Press two for a woman. Press three for a drink. Press four for a ….

“Allen Vandecamp, here. Mr. Davenport?”

“Yes.”

“I understand you are interested in Dr. Creekmantle’s clinic.”

“If you mean the animal clinic, yes.”

“One and the same. What would you like to know?”

“Why is he selling, and how much?”

“Dr. Creekmantle’s selling because he is retiring. He has hopes of selling the place to someone with experience and to continue the practice.”

“I see. Experience, I have. Almost ten years, and I have toyed with the idea of owning my own business for some time.”

“If I may, Mr. Davenport, I would like to set up a day and time to show you around the place. It still is in operation. It’s just that Dr. Creekmantle rarely comes in these days. His assistant, Terrie Norstrum, is pretty much in charge for the time being.”

“Mr. Vandecamp, my coming in any time soon will be a problem. I’m down here in Newark, Delaware. But, if you can email me photographs, along with any structural damage the building may have; and any areas that may have to meet any safety-inspection codes, that would be a big help.”

“I can certainly do that. The building is in excellent shape, and recently passed all safety standards.”

“Also, please include his asking price.”

“That’s easy. Dr. Creekmantle wants $650,000. And, I’m afraid that’s one single payment. He doesn’t want to deal with someone doing bank financing. That price does include all materials, furniture, lab equipment, and so forth to keep the clinic and small hospital going.”

“One last thing. Sorry. Do you, or can you, get to me a history of income for the last three years?”

“I am sure I can. Dr. Creekmantle is very anxious to sell and will practically do all he can to get the place sold, and in qualified hands.”

“Then go ahead and email all that information. I will get back to you once I have reviewed everything.”

Patrick gave him his email address and closed off the call. He spun around in his office at home and looked out onto a crisp morning. He stared out into his yard, and all the leaves that had piled high on the ground. He watched as a few leaves were lifted back and forth, from one place to another from a slight breeze, gliding its way to no place, and going someplace, he had no clue about.

Spinning back around, he faced his computer, booted it up, and knew if the place looked even halfway good to him, he would buy it.

He had the money, in part from his savings account, his joint checking account with Daniel, and the life insurance policy that made Patrick the beneficiary. Daniel also left a separate policy to his parents. “Just because they can’t bitch I left everything to you,” Daniel often said. All totaled, according to when he checked his account online; he was two-hundred thousand shy of two-million.

The more he thought about the clinic, the more he knew he would say yes and buy the place. He had the experience, working as an assistant vet at the Newark Animal Shelter. He had his own ideas on how to run a clinic, so this would be ideal.

But there is another reason he wanted to buy the place. The closeness. It was the last place Daniel was alive and breathing before God took him away.

For Patrick, being close to Daniel’s final moments made living a bit more memorable, and in time, he might once again find happiness. Maybe.

With that thought in mind, his right hand reached for the Sig-Sauer .351, replaced the safety, and opened the bottom drawer, and placed the weapon in a case and then closed and locked the drawer.

Thursday – February 7th

Baker’s Office – 9:26 a.m.

“Baker.”

“This is Captain Adams over here in Brighton.”

“What can I do for you, Captain?”

“In light of what you recently went through; it’s more what I can do for you. We had a call two weeks ago reporting a dead body. One Marie Hampton. She used to run a realtor business out your way.”

“Name rings a bell. Wait. I remember now. One of my officer’s received information from her, regarding Fredrick Uri Kristen, who was using an alias at the time, Craig Murray. Because of her help, we almost apprehended him. But like you said, that was just a few weeks ago.”

“She’s why I’m calling. Her death was sadistic. Throat cut, chest ripped open, body parts all over the place, and her heart; half torn to pieces, but according to the autopsy’s final report, the heart was chewed. Like eaten.

“My unit swept her place good. We found blood and a few body hairs at the scene. We were able to identify the blood belonging to Kristen. I have to say, Lieutenant, compared to what he has done to other people, this was brutal and messy. Pure rage and anger.”

“What he was after last month, he didn’t get. His frustration and rage boiled over onto her.”

“Makes sense. We also found a slug that appears to be from a .45, that was left in an ashtray.

“If you can send that to my office, I’m more than sure ballistics will tell you it came from one of my officer’s weapon.”

“I can do that, but there is one other thing.”

That flat statement from Adams had goosebumps rise up on her arms.

“Lay it on me, Captain.”

“As I mentioned, my team swept Marie Hampton’s apartment, and one piece of evidence we collected was a letter, for you, from Kristen. It is still in a sealed bag and had been dusted for prints. The reason it took this long to contact you, honestly, is that our office is short-staffed, and not everything is being done properly yet, to keep things running smoothly.

Baker inhaled and muttered, “That-son-of-a-bitch.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing. Look, I can be in Brighton in the next couple hours to read the letter.”

“No need. Just give me your fax number, and I’ll send a copy, and later mail you the original. We have no reason to keep this around any longer.”

“Deal; though I’m not sure I want to read this one, this time.”

“I’ll have it to you in the next two minutes. I’ll also send you copies of how we found Marie Hampton, what the team dug up, and what the M.E. gave me. It’s understood he’s your perp, and I figured you would want any information that gets you closer to arresting Kristen.”

“Just what I need, Captain. More puzzle pieces but thank you.”

After she gave him the fax number, as promised, the fax started working. She hit receive and watched as a blank page sprang to life with black letters on it. Letters, she knew, would make her shake in both fear, and anger.

She couldn’t help but believe if that phone hadn’t rung that night, that no amount of help could have saved Stevie, Ed, or herself. But it did ring, and guessed God wasn’t ready to move her and the two men she loved most, into heaven yet.

The paper from the fax machine stopped printing. She pulled it away and sat back at her desk and started reading.

My dear sweet Janis,

Once more you survived when you shouldn’t have. Are you Irish? Devine intervention, perhaps? Either way, you get to run around town and continue to play bad-girl cop. Did that prick, Ed, survive? Did you see the look on his face when his arm divorced him and hit the floor? The look was priceless. I have no way of knowing at the moment; if he died or not. I would give you my address that you could write, but we know that isn’t happening.

For reasons we all understand, I will be away. I have other people to do. Hence, sweet Janis, you can relax. But—there will come a day when there will be no more running, no more wondering for either of us. I can promise you that. Before you ask yourself the all-too important question; of course, you will hear from me time to time. Isn’t that what friends do? After all, you know me so very well now. I almost dare say, better than I know myself.

Before I forget, give my regards to your Gimp for a son. Knowing what he knew was to have happened, I have to give my respect where respect is due. I saw no fear in his eyes. I make you this promise; I will not harm your son.

Question? Can your lips still feel my kiss? For a bitch, you are delicious.

When you have finished this, I will be far, far away, so for now my delicious wench, farewell.

Next time; Just you. Just me.

With No Love In My Heart For You

Freddy

PS … when it comes time, I will take you to hell’s never-ending abyss.