Book 2 - Part 5: Changing Evil - Chapter Ten

12:55 p.m.

She spent the better part of an hour with Ricky Austin, informing him there may be an attempt on his life.

She found out that he’s married, twin daughters, both twelve, and that his wife, Carol Anne, works at the music shop, ‘Melodies If You Please.’ Neither of them ever were arrested or had so much as a traffic ticket.

Baker informed him there would be a twenty-four surveillance at his home from the time he left for work and from the time he came home. Baker cleared that with one phone call to Captain Todd.

After her interview, she drove to Dianne’s house.

Once she parked the car in the driveway and walked up the front steps to the door, she saw a note attached to it that read: Baker, I’m in the bedroom.

She tried the door. It was unlocked.

Then she thought aloud. “Oh, God! Please, no!”

She ran to the bedroom on the second floor and the first thing she saw were her legs, slightly bent away from each other. Then she saw her right arm bent in close to her chin.

Then she saw the gun resting on her chest.

She quickly rushed inside and looked at Dianne.

No blood.

And breathing.

Baker shook Dianne awake.

Dianne sat up in bed and looked at Baker, her thoughts dulled at first, then she started to cry.

They held onto each other until Dianne’s tears ebbed away.

“I tried, three times. And I made a promise to myself that if I survived, I would do the very best I could with my life without him in it any longer.”

Softly, Baker, holding Dianne’s hands in her own said, “You’ve never, not once in all the time I have known you, have you ever mentioned his name. What was his name.” It came out as a request, not a question.

“I haven’t? Not even once?” Dianne tried to make her smile broader, but it was a struggle.

“His name is Kenneth Allen, but he’ll always be Bear to me. He was a huge man. Almost 380 and 6’10”. Hairy as all get out. That’s why I call him Bear.” She was smiling through the tears that took over again.

All Baker did the rest of the afternoon was listen. She felt deep inside herself, from every word Dianne said; became a reflection of her own life.

Call them kindred-spirits, call them sisters. Call it being a woman and understanding to the root core what losing your soul mate felt like.

1:19 p.m.

Ed heard the call on the radio. Satchell and Devon were enroute.

When he pulled up to the scene, paramedics, the F-Team, and a few other police cars were already there. Satchell was getting information from a distraught, and now widowed wife, Darlene Randall, explaining how she found her husband.

“Satchell?”

“Ed.” He looked at Devon. “Take him inside to the bedroom, Andre.”

Satchell continued his questions, remembering to be subtle in his wording as possible. Mrs. Randall looked as if she might go into shock.

Ed, tagging behind Devon, was following an all too familiar trail.

He stopped at the entrance of the bedroom and stared long and hard.

There he was still. Paramedics were standing off to the side waiting for clearance to remove the body.

Spread eagle on the bed, his throat splayed open. As he came closer, he could see the deep incision like a small X, and the heart removed, and like the last victim, the heart lay on his torso with a piece either torn away or chewed off.

“Just like the last one, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, and this makes it even worse. His death ties into the Meadowood killing somehow. Same M.O.”

“Hey, Ed. What’s doing?”

He turned around.

“Hello, Carl. Same as before, only he’s older.”

“After my team finishes here, I’ll go over everything and see what I can come up with. I see the heart’s either been chewed or torn like the last one. On that last Vic, I did everything I could to bring up something off the markings, maybe this time I can.”

“Appreciate it. Be careful today. Snow is really starting to pile up.”

“Don’t I know it,” replied Carl. “Today would be a good day to stay indoors, mix up a couple of hot totties, set a warm fire, and forget the world out there exists.”

“Nice fantasy. Oh, if you can, try and see if you can get a rundown on that perfumed scent.”

“We’ve tried. It’s sold in just about every store in the country. Nothing special about it, but I’ll have the team run another test on it.”

“Good enough for me. Catch you later, Carl.”

He went back outside and stood on the front porch.

Satchell handed him his notes along with Devon’s. Ed looked them over briefly, then handed them back.

“None of the neighbors heard or saw a thing. Since this happened sometime over the weekend, it could have been someone that knew him, and knew when the neighbors would be away.

“Like maybe at a basketball game.”

“Makes sense. Head on in and file your report. I’m on my way to Findlay’s Garage. I have a few questions for a mechanic there named, Jeffery Collins.”

As Ed drove away, he could see Mrs. Randall, standing by the side of the house in a long black winter coat as the snow clung to it and her hair. She was still crying.

2:55 p.m.

After Ed spoke with Collins, he did all he could do. Just as with Austin, he would apply the same thing with Collins. Surveillance. From time to time, he was home usually until he went to work, then from work to home. Collins couldn’t understand it though.

“Why me? Man, I’m just a mechanic. I ain’t got a ton of bread. I ain’t nobody famous. Why me? I don’t get it.”

When Ed explained what happened years ago, and that his father was involved, and what’s happened since, it started sinking in.

Collins picked up a heavy monkey wrench.

“She gets too close to me, I’ll pop her one alongside her head, is what I’ll do.”

“Mr. Collins, you’ll do no such thing. She may have a gun, sir. We are affording you the best protection we possibly can. Just do your job as you always do, including your personal routine at home, and let us handle the rest.”

What a day, thought Ed. Now that Collins was out of the way, he could concentrate on other things, but as always, the day was far from over.

3:30 p.m.

This time he tried moving a little faster than before.

It was almost like a skip-hop, skip-hop, but he didn’t tell them.

Pretty cool.

What was cooler; he didn’t miss a shot. 60 for 60. The last two in a row were unreal.

Half-court shots.

4:15 p.m.

“Kellie, I have to leave a bit early. There are only four orders to put together. All but one will be picked up by eight this evening. The orders are right by the register.”

“All right, Maureen. I can handle that. Want I should make the bank deposit, too?”

“Yes, if you would, please.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kellie. I’m off to meet a friend. Be careful driving home tonight. They say the roads might ice up.”

“I will, and you be careful, too. Have a fun time. Bye!”

As she walked out the front door into a blanket of heavy snow falling, she slid behind the wheel of her car and thought aloud, “Kellie, if things work right, I’ll have a very good time.”

The Squad Room – 6:12 p.m.

Ed used the Internet and searched out anything on a Justine Grant from twenty-three years ago.

He couldn’t find anything other than Taylor Packard was arrested for the rape and attempted murder of Justine. There weren’t any other names mentioned that were actually involved.

According to statements, Packard was innocent. Grant was paid twenty-five grand to point the finger at Packard. So, if she’s the one committing the killings; tack on giving false testimony somewhere along the line.

We were expecting, hoping, to get something back from the National DMV website as well.

Nothing was showing up. It was as if Justine Grant was nothing more than a ghost. But ghosts can’t kill, right? Right.

Ed spent more time searching through the National Data center for Raped and Exploited Women. It gave a known list of all the names of women from ages ten to seventy-three from that time period, which included nine men brutally beaten and raped by female gang members. Don’t laugh. It happens.

Some names matched pictures. Most didn’t.

Scrolling down, Ed found what he hoped for.

DOB: 06/15/65. WT: 121. HT: 5’5”. Eyes: Green. HAIR COLOR: Mousey Brown.

The information had been recently updated, just not a recent picture.

“’Since 2012, all of Ms. Grant’s attackers have yet been brought to justice. Two have died due to natural causes. We, the staff, and also all the victims of rape and abuse; not only physical, but mentally and emotionally, here at: wonttakeitanylonger.org; understand that after decades of searching, a trail can and often does go cold. We will never stop believing rapists will go unpunished. One day they will get the justice that awaits them.’”

Ed let the words speak loudly in his head. Obviously, somewhere along the line, Justine told someone the truth. But they have no idea justice has finally arrived. Terrible and swift.

Ed highlighted the photo alongside her bio, scrolled down and hit print. It came out as a one-by-one inch shot. Then he went into an artwork program, transferred the picture into the program, resized it enough where it wouldn’t pixel out, and printed two copies. One he would give to a sketch artist to work up a composite for what she may look like today.

The other copy? Come the next meeting in the morning, after checking with his Jan tonight, he would know whether to make more copies for the team or wait.

But tonight, he was done.

7:45 p.m.

Something was wrong. She could feel it.

He was home. Alone like always. Something felt different.

A police car is coming up the street. Keep walking. Wait. The car is stopping next to a dark Chevy.

Dammit! Somehow, they’ve tied it together! But they don’t know. They haven’t figured out it’s me. That’s still my advantage.

But I know Collins work schedule, and Thursday nights, he always works late. I’ll do him there.

What if the cops watch him there?

Then Jeffery Collins may get to live.