The Second Coming (21 page)

“I wanted to protect the blind side of the toughest quarterback I’d ever seen,” Big Pete told him one night after a few too many beers.

Mike recalled how devastated Big Pete was when, on the last game of their sophomore season, he missed his blocking assignment allowing an unencumbered Blitzer a free shot at Mike’s blindside. The defender came in low and blew out Mike’s right knee effectively ending his football career.

That’s why when Mike began to drink and take drugs as a way of coping, Big Pete took it upon himself to confront Mike and take him to rehab.

Mike remembered how worried Big Pete was when he told him that he had enlisted in the Navy because he wouldn’t be there to protect him.

After graduation, Big Pete bought an old convertible Cadillac with some of the money he received as a signing bonus when he was drafted by the Los Angeles Raiders and they road tripped to San Diego to drop Mike off at basic training. They talked about their goals and shared their biggest fears, which was something neither of them had ever done and would never tell anyone else. After that, Mike considered Big Pete the brother he never had.

When Mike returned from his stint in the Navy, Big Pete was out of the NFL and working for the Oakland PD in Homicide. He was the one who convinced Mike to become a homicide detective while they sipped Budweiser’s at The Precinct.

“You are the one who said you wanted to do something that would make a difference and help people,” Big Pete reminded him. “This job is everything you want. It requires discipline, you get to be a part of a team, and you can be a leader. Plus, I’ll be able to watch your back again.”

Now, as Mike lay in his hospital bed recovering from a coma, he realized Big Pete was still watching his back.

“You know what I remember about you Big Pete?” Mike replied to his original question. “I remember that you always have my back.”

“I always will Brother,” Big Pete assured him with a shake of his head and as he stood up and walked over, he stuck his hand out sideways for Mike to grasp and held it like a brother. “There is no one else’s back I’d rather watch.”

There was a moment of silence as the two men shared their respect and admiration until it was interrupted by the faint sound of a knock on the door.

Mike nodded at Big Pete and let go of his hand as he took a deep breath and composed himself, sitting as far upright in his bed as he could.

Mike watched with discerning eyes as Big Pete sauntered over to the door and opened it, peeking his head out to see who it was. Mike could hear the murmur of conversation.

Big Pete turned and gave Mike a crooked look of concern.

“Are you ready for visitors yet Mikey?” He asked in a protective manner.

“Sure,” Mike replied intrigued.

Big Pete flipped the light switch and Mike turned from the soft white glare, squinting and blinking until his eyes were able to adjust. He turned back and saw Big Pete holding the door open as a uniformed officer ambled
into the room. At first he wasn’t sure who it was but as his vision came into focus he recognized the young man with short cropped hair as Axelrode, the new recruit he partied with.

“Hey Axe,” Mike greeted him with a warm smile.

“Hey Mike,” he replied solemnly with a distraught expression pasted to his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Mike assured him. “It’s good to see you. I met a friend of yours the other night…” Mike stopped suddenly with a sickening feeling of despair as he remembered the look of terror on Denise’s face and realized what happened. “Is she dead?” He asked with fear in his voice, already knowing the answer to the question.

Big Pete and Axe looked at each other without saying a word. Mike’s heart sank like a deflated balloon in his chest. He turned his head away from the two men in ashamed anguish as he gazed out the window and fought back the tears that were welling in his eyes. He really fucked up this time. His careless bravado had cost the life of a beautiful young woman. A mother no less. Her son was going to grow up without a father or a mother.

Mike turned his head back towards the men. “Did they catch the son of a bitch?”

Big Pete shook his head and looked at his feet.

Mike scowled at Axe as he grit his teeth. “I’m sorry Axe,” he said with a raspy voice.

Axe didn’t say anything and Mike could see the pain and torment on his strained face.

“Do you remember anything from that night that might be of help?” Big Pete asked.

Mike stared at the ceiling as he replayed the events of that night, but all he could think about was Denise’s beautiful, wholesome face and how enchanted he had been with her.

“What were you doing there?” Axe asked in an interrogating manner.

Mike let out a deep breath. “I stopped in for a drink and we got to talking,” he explained. “When she told me her daughter’s name was April Rose, I made the connection that she is your friend’s widow. I wanted to protect her so I stayed to walk her to her car.”

“Yeah, well nice job,” Axe said indignantly.

“Easy…” Big Pete warned him with stern eyes and then looked back at Mike. “Did you get a look at him Mikey?”

Mike’s eyes were narrow slits as he recalled walking Denise across the street to her car and remembered the look of terror in her widened eyes as the Sterling Killer approached him from behind. How could he allow someone to sneak up behind him like that?

He wanted to remember being hit or knocked down, but no matter how hard he tried, he just kept going back to Denise’s face. His gut began to burn with anger.

“That mother fucker must have been watching me,” he growled with the cold realization of it all. “I led him right to her.”

“You think?” Axe quipped angrily.

Big Pete looked at Axe with sharp piercing eyes. “I told you to keep your cool. Don’t make me remind you again.”

“It’s alright,” Mike assured him. “He’s got the right to be pissed. I would be too.”

“We don’t know for sure that he was following you,” Big Pete pointed out. “He may have been stalking Denise when you happened upon the scene, but he knows who you are now.”

Mike could tell by Big Pete’s certain tone that there was something he wasn’t telling him. “What do you mean?” Mike asked nervously.

Big Pete gave Mike a worried glare as he reached back and rubbed the back of his neck.

“What the fuck is it?” Mike demanded.

“It’s a shit storm out there,” Big Pete cautioned him. “It’s all over the news.”

“What do you mean?” Mike asked perplexed. “What’s all over the news?”

“What do you think Mike?” Axe asked irritated. “Oakland homicide detective attacked by Sterling Killer, another victim abducted right from under the Oakland police departments’ nose, another pretty young bartender found disemboweled and stabbed in the heart. Is that enough of a shit storm for you?”

“The FBI has been brought in to help Mikey.”

Mike couldn’t believe it. How did this all go wrong so quickly? Did he lead the Sterling Killer right to Denise? How had he been so careless? Was he
to blame for all of the murders? He had been to all of the bars the ladies were abducted from. Was the Sterling Killer following Mike and targeting his victims from the bars he went to? Holy shit! If that was true, who else could be in danger and why would the Sterling Killer be targeting the bartenders from the bars he visited? What was his connection to all of this?

Mike grabbed the TV clicker from the bedside table and pointed it unsteadily at the television in the far corner of the room. When the sound and picture came on, there was a reporter talking with a pretty, professionally dressed brunette at a small table on the sidewalk in front of a café.

The reporter introduced the lady as Dr. Kate Wilson, Professor of Criminal Psychology at Stanford University.

“What type of person is a serial killer?” The reporter asked.

“Almost all serial killers have three things in common,” the professor explained. “They have some history of brain damage, mental illness and abuse. Most serial killers have a combination of two of the characteristics.”

“What is it about brain damage that causes people to murder?” the reporter inquired.

“There have been studies done on the brains of serial killers and all of them, without exception, showed damage to the frontal lobe which is the area responsible for controlling impulse and aggression. Because of the damage, the killers are not able to inhibit their impulses.”

“How is that different than mental illness?”

“Mental illness manifests itself in the form of voices and other delusions,” she explained with long fluttering eyelashes. “John Callinger reported hearing God’s voice telling him to kill his son and Ed Gingrich claimed that he was possessed by the devil, who told him his wife was trying to poison him, so he killed and disemboweled her. People with severe mental illness or psychosis can’t distinguish between the real world and the imagined.”

“What is it about abuse that causes these individuals to commit murders? You would think that if they didn’t like being abused, that they would not abuse others.”

Professor Wilson shifted in her tight fitting skirt. “People who have been abused either physically, and or sexually, live in fear and later in life that fear manifests itself in the form of anger. They take their anger out on their victims. They feel they have been victimized and they want to get even and this feeling empowers them.”

“What about killers such as Ted Bundy who don’t fit the profile of being abused or having brain damage or mental illness? How do criminal psychologists explain that phenomenon? Here was a good looking, well educated guy who was raised in a life of privilege. What causes him to commit murder?”

Dr. Wilson nodded her head as she waited anxiously to reply. “Ted Bundy was what we in criminal psychology refer to as a psychopath. Psychopaths are charming and manipulative and are emotionally devoid and detached from what they are doing. They have no fear, which is why they can pass lie detector tests. They are callous, egocentrics with illusions of grandeur.”

“What type of killer do you think the Sterling Killer is? What type of profile fits these killings the best?” the reporter asked wrapping up the interview.

Kate looked up and thought about it for a split second. “It seems as though he is taking his anger out on these women. Maybe he was abused as a child and is exacting his revenge on these helpless young ladies. Maybe someone at his church molested him which is why he is leaving the victims’ bodies to be found in churches and leaving the symbol on the church walls. Or he may be mentally ill and hears voices telling him to do it. One thing I do know is that when he is caught, he will have one of the three characteristics we discussed today.”

Mike clicked the TV off and reached over with a weak, trembling hand and gently removed the IV from the vein in his apposing forearm.

“What are you doing?” Big Pete asked stunned.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” he replied as he began to pull the bandaging off his head.

“Hold on now,” Big Pete said excitedly as he approached Mike. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. The doctor says you need time to rest and recover.”

When the bandage was removed it revealed a shaved head with a long, jagged wound stitched on the lower back side of his head.

Axe watched with an uncertain eagerness, not knowing how to respond. Mike sat up in his bed feeling woozy as he spun around so that his legs were dangling above the floor.

“Help me up,” he said to Big Pete with determination in his eyes.

“Are you sure you are alright?” He clutched Mike by the bicep and helped him to his feet.

“The longer I stay in this bed, the weaker I get and the longer it will take me to recover,” Mike reasoned. “I’ve been in this bed too long already. Where are my clothes?”

“I brought you a change of clothes,” Big Pete assured him. “The clothes you were wearing were cut off of you.”

There was a soft rap on the door and the doctor entered the room wearing a white lab coat over his blue scrubs, his attention focused on Mike’s chart. When he glanced over the top of his bifocals and saw Mike standing in his hospital gown with Big Pete holding him by his arm, he stopped with a look of disbelief.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked befuddled as he looked at each of them sternly in the eyes. “This man needs to be getting rest. He has serious trauma to his brain.”

“I feel fine Doc,” Mike replied with a slight slur. “I’m going to go home and get some rest.”

“Your eyes are still dilated and your speech is slurred,” the doctor replied irritated. “We need to monitor your cerebral blood flow and the pressure within your skull to make sure further damage to the brain does not occur. Your brain needs time to recover. If you leave now, you could die.”

Those words hit home and everyone stood in stunned silence looking at each other for answers they did not have.

“I don’t have a choice,” Mike told the doctor. “We’ve got to catch the killer before he kills again.”

chapter
39

T
HE NEXT DAY
Mike was back at The Oakland Police Department feeling like he had a bad hangover and his disposition wasn’t much better. He was wearing a knit cap to cover up his wound which throbbed with pain as he mentally prepared himself for the meeting with Captain Volger.