Authors: Carolyn Arnold
The news was all over the place. Kent Fields, renowned Pulitzer-winning author, was dead. He died on scene when his car wrapped around the base of a tree. The Advocate heard the recap as he channel flipped, hoping that this was some sort of cruel joke.
He had everything figured out and it wasn
’t supposed to happen like this. Now who was going to take the fall? It certainly wasn’t going to be him. Not after all the hard work and planning he put into this. He had to choose his n
ext target very carefully.
Plans had to be changed, but that was life. He still had people to make pay. Just like a detour can occur on a long road trip, that was all this equated to. He would still reach his destination. The world would benefit from a cleaner and more just society.
He brought up the Internet and searched for his next victim. It seemed like his initial choice was granted a stay of life—for now. He’d move on and pick someone closer to home, and it would most certainly get the FBI
’s attention.
But was that what he wanted?
He told himself many times he wasn
’t a killer, even though the dead bodies contradicted that belief. He could justify his actions. These men deserved to die for what they had done. Even the Good Book believes in retribution, a compensating for sins.
He wasn
’t God’s means of meting out justice. He wasn’t that disillusioned, but he had a higher purpose. He wouldn’t be stopped unless he wanted to. The best course of action would be to lie low until the FBI disappeared—the man hours and budget would eventually supersede the need to find a killer.
But there was a burning inside of him that couldn
’t be dampened. A compulsion that drove him forward. His hands shook when he stumbled upon the perfect person.
He smirked.
Yes, he would arrive. This was just the scenic route.
*****
The Advocate hated being this unprepared, but he wasn
’t left with a choice. When he spotted his next target, he had a feeling it would be easier than he thought.
The Offender
’s gait tipped left to right as if he were a piece of fabric blowing in the breeze. He lost his footing on the step along the front walkway and came down hard, knee to concrete—his left one taking the brunt of it.
“Son of a bitch!”
His yell pierced the night air but no one seemed to pay him attention.
No lights turned on in the neighboring houses.
The Advocate took it as a sign to move. The superstitious part of him saw it as a positive omen that he was where he was supposed to be. He got out of the car and made it all the way to the man without being noticed.
“Here, would you like help?” He
offered him a hand to stand up, b
ut the recognized gesture of goodwill was only to ensure that the man would go quietly.
The Offender straightened out, a stupid grin on his face, and slurred, “Thanks, man.”
It was time to act. The Advocate pulled the gun from his coat.
The ridiculous expression on the man’s face morphed into fear. He batted his hands in the air. “Get away—”
“Be quiet. You come with me, nice and slow and I won’t shoot you.” He preferred he followed his advice. He’d rather him suffer long, slow, and painfully as he had inflicted on one of the defenseless
.
“Who are you?” Even standing back up, he leaned side to side. His breath stank of cheap whiskey.
“That doesn’t matter. See that car over there? The one behind me?”
The drunk squinted. His eyes were glazed over like two beady marbles.
“Why does it matter?”
God, he had no toleration for drunks. He pressed the gun to the man’s gut. “You’re going to walk there like we’re friends.”
“Hey, I’ve seen you before.”
I highly doubt it.
“Move it.” He gestured with a nudge of the gun.
The Offender held up his hands and toppled forward.
Maybe he had underestimated the simplicity of this abduction. But patience. The man would pay for what he did, and it would be executed flawlessly. He would see to that.
He put him in the small room where Lyons had decided to hang himself rather than endure more physical pain and discomfort. He was weak, giving up on life. No doubt he realized that he was a miserable being who didn
’t deserve the breath of life.
Either way it was of no consequence. The sacrifice of atonement had been made—adhering to Biblical logic—a life for a life.
He had the latest Offender constrained to a chair. Restraints were on his arms, his ankles, and for good measure, a clasp was around his neck.
The latter hardly fit around him and had his eyes bulging and bloodshot—red lines spread out like vines. Still, there would be no mercy.
Above him was a jug of hydrofluoric acid. He had added water to ensure that he
’d have longer to toy with the man, to make him realize the error in his ways.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked.
His captive looked on him with eyes like blank coals.
“You are going to get back what you deserve. See above you?” He paused as if the man were able to accept the invitation. “Well, I guess you can’t. So I will tell you. Better yet, I will show you.”
He snapped on gloves.
“Please, no, don’t do this.”
The Advocate moved to the container and punctured the base of it with a fine-tipped awl.
Even with protection, he hurried to get his hand out of the way, but he was too slow. A few drops burned through to flesh.
The cry coming from his throat mingled with the curdling screams of his captive.
The case seemed to be getting nowhere fast. The lab was still working on tying the chrome paint from the hitch to a truck brand. We didn’t have any other hot suspects at the moment.
We were at the field office deciding our next course of action.
“We still haven’t spoken to Karl Ball’s wife. He’s the missing man from two thousand ten,” Paige said.
She hadn
’t looked at me all morning, and after a night of tossing and turning myself, I don’t think I blamed her. She was right, but things were what they were.
“We’ve done a lot of talking to family members.” Jack’s eyes showed he was in thought. “All right, we know both Ellis and Lyons were gamblers. Could our unsub be a man they both owed money to?”
“Good luck finding that person though, especially if they owed someone under the table,” Zachery said.
“Hmm.”
“What about casinos in the area? Did they owe them?” I asked. Everyone but Paige had their attention on me.
“Not sure. We should ask Nadia to look into that aspect.”
“We need to figure out where their lives could have intersected.”
Paige
’s phone chimed and I recognized it as being an email notification. She pulled out her cell and pushed some buttons. “Well, I got my answer from Nadia on prior politicians. You’re not going to believe who is on the list. Detective Hogan’s father was mayor for one term, twenty-six years ago.”
“You’re thinking maybe he was involved with Lyons getting off?” Zachery asked.
“What is the point of going down this path? I don’t understand.”
If a glare could freeze Tahiti…
Paige’s jaw tightened and her mouth fell into a straight line. “It’s called being thorough.”
“All right, but we’re not suspecting that he’s responsible for the killings are we? I mean why help get a man off and then carry out his own justice?” I answered my own question. The guy we were after had an ego. He was selective. “Never mind.”
“On top of it, our killer would know the charges are essentially a slap on the hand.”
Paige didn’t acknowledge my presence when she continued.
“It would also explain something else. Detective Hogan said he didn’t hate people, just the feds. Hogan Senior spent some time with the bureau.”
“Maybe it’s time to find out why he hated his father so much. He might know more than he’s telling us,” Zachery reasoned.
*****
Paige managed to convince Jack it would be best if she approached Detective Hogan alone. She worked it from the standpoint that as a woman she could use her charm and work it in their favor. He waved her off to take care of it.
The plea hadn’t stemmed from honest intentions though. She needed to get away from Brandon. How could he be so obtuse? It hurt just being around him. His moods ran polar opposite and it would have her questioning his mental stability if she didn
’t know better.
But how could he go from kissing her to the cool indifference he had demonstrated in the bar? The way he tried to divert the conversation to Christmas and to the case. There was only one subject they needed to discuss and that was their relationship. She hated being toyed with and she didn
’t understand why, when it came to him, she let it happen repeatedly.
She pulled into the Starbucks lot and picked out the department-issued sedan immediately. There was a spot open beside it and she parked there.
She found Detective Hogan sitting at a corner table, cradling a festive paper cup bearing the name of the chain. She slipped in across from him.
He noticed her empty hands. “Not having anything?”
“Not really in the mood.” She took her coat off and put it over the back of the chair.
He studied her.
“I know I told you the getting-to-know-me part of the day was to be during personal time…are you going for that now?” He smiled, and a shot of derision for all men bolted through Paige’s system.
“Actually, I wanted to tell you that I know why you hate the feds.”
He raised his cup and jutted it toward her.
“I’m actually surprised it took you this long.”
“Let’s just say that it was on my to-do list, but not at the very top.” She grinned at him, the way she had perfected to lure men closer.
“Oh.
Touché
.”
“Tell me about your father.”
“You wanting the abbreviated version? Because if you want the long story, I suggest you get some caffeine in you.”
She laughed.
“I’ve drank enough lately to power the city. Surprised I even got any sleep last night.” The truth was she hadn’t slept, but it wasn’t the result of any stimulant. How could Brandon just let her walk away?
She shook the thought, focusing back on Hogan.
“How did he hurt you?”
Hogan laughed this time.
“What? My father? You’re trying to get me to open up by appealing to my emotions? I’m a man, I don’t work that way. I do like your shirt though.”
She didn
’t even glance down. It was a button-up number, in a shade of green that suited her, and she had purposely left the top three buttons undone to hint at the cleavage beneath the fabric.
She took the compliment—she was on the right track. Most men
’s minds worked the same way.
“All right, I’ll get to the point,” she said.
“That would be wonderful.” He cradled his cup with both hands.
He was retreating from the conversation. It was a surefire sign when someone put things in front of their chest, or held something with two hands when one would do.
“I didn’t look into your past to get close to you.”
He placed one hand over his heart but was quick to return it to the cup.
She smirked.
“Your father’s name only came up in a search I had done.”
He leaned forward. “Don’t tell me you think he’s involved with the killings somehow.”
She proceeded without responding to his concern. “A victim’s wife told me that her husband had gotten off because he knew someone who knew someone.”
“Wow, and that
someone
led back to my father?”
“It did. I had our girl research those in any position of power at the time the charges were laid, and there was your last name.”
“Nice to know you were thinking of me.” His eyes sparkled.
He was obviously doing his best to pour on what charm he could muster.
But after what Brandon had done to her last night, it would take a lot more than flirtatious eyes and smiles to dampen the hatred she felt for the male sex.
“Your father served for a brief stint with the bureau, but that’s probably not the real reason you hate us.”
“
Curious and curiouser
.” He settled back in his chair and put both hands on his cup.
“Your father did some things you weren’t proud of when he was a mayor.” She was fishing, and hoped he didn’t realize.
“Hmm, well, he changed after being with the FBI, so I pin the blame there.”
“All fine and good, but we believe that maybe your father got Simpson off from the charges against him for animal abuse.”
He scoffed.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He raised eyes to the ceiling, and then down to meet Paige’s. “My father was not in the picture when I was young. He didn’t care about me. He cared about solving cases and then when that came to an end, he cared about votes. I highly doubt he knew a man like Simpson, let alone got close to him.”
Paige let the silence build for about thirty seconds.
“Do you think he would have—”
“Gotten a man off from abuse charges? Absolutely not.” He let go of his cup. “We done here?”
Paige nodded and Hogan got up and left.
Maybe she would sit there for a while and let her thoughts gel. She believed Hogan, but until they had their killer in custody, she had to tuck the facts of this meeting away in case they were needed.
Her cell rang.
“Special Agent Dawson.”
“Paige?”
“What is it,
Brandon
?” She wasn’t in the mood to hear an apology and she certainly wasn’t open to being manipulated.
“There’s another one.”
“Another one? A victim?”
“Missing. Get back to the office.”