After the Evil – A Jake Roberts Novel (Book 1) (8 page)

We walk past the activity at the front desk where
officers move in random directions in search of truth and justice.
We push through the main doors of the house and head toward the
parking garage. Along the way Mika describes the details of the
“Who’s Your Daddy” case. I hang on every word deciphering, and
sifting through her suppositions and intuitions about the killer. I
guess she did learn a lot in Quantico. She is the expert now. I can
learn a lot from her, if I don’t let my ego get in the way. The
screeching tires of his unmarked car announce the arrival of Harmon
who coincidently severs our path.

“I’m driving, get in.”

Without hesitation, we both grab a door handle and
climb in. Mika’s briefing goes uninterrupted, and I pretend not to
hear Harmon’s rants.

“I hate when he drives. Man can’t see a stop sign,
or a pedestrian. I can’t tell you how close we’ve come to running
over everybody in this city, at one time, or another.”

Detective Blackwell is large, and even larger in his
opinions, but he is my partner. His abrupt arrival is replaced by a
very conservative drive through the crime-breathing back streets.
He knows a shortcut as we head toward Abrams’s mansion. Some of the
graffiti on the buildings is quite artistic. I recognize some of
the tags from my days chasing gangs.

I just saw Abrams two days ago.

“We should have gone the other way. This ‘hood’ has
never even heard the word ‘po-lees’ because the police won’t come
in here.”

Harmon was maladjusted to our current location, but
he had a reason to be. He knew these streets better than any other
cop, because grew up here. While Harmon is concerned, I know he
likes to check the working girls in their tight, short skirts and
five-inch heels.

“Oh momma, would you look at that?”

His head swings like a gate in the wind.

Mika could care less about the streetwalkers.
Ignoring Harmon, she sounds frustrated.

“He’s one step ahead of us all the time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Each of the crimes scenes, all ten, eleven now, was
spotless. Not one single fingerprint has been lifted, except for
those that should have been at the scene. There has not been a drop
of saliva, semen, or DNA. There are never any witnesses. All that’s
ever left behind is that hideous scrawl of victim’s names above the
deceased. It creeps me out whenever I see it. Burglary and robbery
are never a factor. All jewels, except for the family jewels, are
where they should be.”

Mika starts pointing out directions for Harmon, and
I start thinking more about the case.

“Why Abrams? What’s the connection? Is there a
personal ad for lonely hearts? Was he kinky, perverted, something
none of us picked up on over the years?”

As we drive up and into the driveway, I can see he
lived well. The residence looks more like a posh hotel. Every house
looks huge to a man who lives in a one-bedroom apartment. We aren’t
even in the suburbs. Abrams liked to live among the natives and
relatively close to the precinct. Mika said a congressman, a union
leader, and a priest were some of the characters on the victim
list. There did not seem to be a common thread, except for the
authority thing. This is going to be interesting, and a
challenge.

“Did we get anything helpful back from the ‘eternal
care unit’?”

A common reference made by investigators, rather
than ICU. The difference being, in the Eternal Care Unit, you’re a
heartbeat away from setting foot in the next place.

“I think Moss is still digging, at the morgue.”

“The report isn’t due out until later today,” Mika
says.

No one is home now. Anna Abrams can’t bear to sleep
there. The crime scene has been deserted, since the night of the
crime. I missed the initial investigation. The only things left are
the insects, the rancid smell, the bloodstains, and the revulsion.
I take out my digital recorder and start making entries. I hate
using a notepad, because my handwriting is poor to doctor-type
unreadable. Besides my arm still has a bullet hole through it and
it hurts to write.

The only difference between this scene and the
others is the fact the victim was discovered early on. Mrs. Abrams
arrived home from her charity function within an hour of his death.
Because the time of death is relatively easy to determine in this
case, there isn’t any need for an entomologist to “bug” the corpse.
Insects typically discovered the body before anyone else did.
Depending on whether lice, mosquitoes or maggots got there first,
they deposit their eggs in the eyes. The larvae, depending on their
state of maturation, can give an exact time of death. Sometimes we
get lucky if the mosquitoes get there first and are still in the
area. It’s possible to snare them. Often times they carry the DNA
of both the victim and killer after the bites. This murder happened
inside, so there is little chance of that.

Mika is right, “antiseptic” is a good word for it.
The disheveled, trashed, disorganized mess you usually expect to
find isn’t here. There are dried bloodstains on the floor. The
splatters are the right distance from Abrams. No doors were
jimmied, and no windows had been broken. I have to believe Abrams
knew his assailant. Fingerprint dust covers everything. No trace
evidence such as fragments, filaments, or fibers, was found by the
techs. This guy is knowledgeable and talented in the techniques of
slaughter. The photos are back at the precinct. Of course, the area
is already contaminated. The uniforms, EMS, investigators and even
Mrs. Abrams have trampled through here. I wish I had gotten out
here sooner.

Mika stands in one corner and takes in the panoramic
view. She has been here before for second and third looks.
Sometimes what you just don’t see the first time, becomes painfully
obvious the next.

“Looks empty without a body, I’m going to walk
around outside and work my way in. There might be something between
here and there, you never know.”

Harmon walks out into the hallway.

“Who had access?”

The words are meant for my recorder, but Mika
answers, while pacing out the room for some reason.

“The wife, there aren’t any children. Closest
relative is in Bloomington.”

She thinks she sees something, but it turns out to
be nothing.

“The doctor wasn’t particularly friendly with the
neighbors. He and Mrs. A traveled mostly outside of the immediate
neighborhood, and its inhabitants. There weren’t any fights, or
arguments, just no contact.”

“Clean, huh? Not much to work with, maybe Harmon
will find something,” Mika says.

Any evidence, however minute, helps. Evidence
doesn’t lie. The problem with it is. It can be misleading if your
interpretation of what it is trying to tell you is wrong. This case
is definitely going to take all of my stamina, because of the lack
of leads. It’s going to take street smarts and intuition I have
accumulated over the years. I speak into my recorder.

“Don’t look for what’s there. Look for what
should
be there.”

The sound of heavy footsteps signals Harmon’s
return. He glances first at me then at Mika.

“I didn’t see a thing.”

“Did you dumpster dive?”

“First place I looked, nothing.”

“What a surprise.”

The sarcasm in Mika’s voice betrays her normally
cool exterior.

“You want to run through it?”

Harmon and I join in an affirmative nod. Mika runs
through it all hoping that some minute detail has been
overlooked.

“Abrams, Thaddeus, psychiatrist, age forty-six,
Caucasian male, married to Anna. Case number: CR 897-4453. Address
is here, six foot even, one hundred ninety pounds, brown hair,
green eyes and small scar on right elbow. Victim found by spouse
who has been eliminated as a suspect. Head facing northwest, face
up, feet to the south and southwest, hands and feet secured as
previous victims.”

Harmon rolls his dark eyes and scrunches his face
when she says the part about the castration. I can feel a phantom
wound between my legs as well.

The first forty-eight hours are critical to a
homicide investigation. I’m standing here at the forty-ninth.

* * *

It’s been three days since Abrams’s murder. As an
insider, and a man considered one of their own, Abrams is talked
about in the precinct with affection and honor. There are
outpourings of sympathy for Anna. How could anyone know his soul
was thrashing and burning in the flames of hell at this very
moment?

My two partners drop me off at my apartment just
after our visit to the mansion. It’s late and I’m exhausted. I’m
having trouble keeping my eyes open. My troublesome nightmares,
return to duty, and seeing Mika again, all in one day has drained
me. I can’t decide what beat me up worse. The pain in my arm is
still there, but not as bad. My little helpers are easily
accessible and a cold beer helps. Sometimes, being alone can be too
quiet. As I recline on my couch, I think about getting my
television repaired, but most of the shows suck anyway. I never
shop from home, never cared about the Middle East, or the
fabricated lives of movie stars, and I definitely don’t care about
over-paid ballplayers. There are always the depressing news
channels, but I deal with real life. I get all the entertainment I
need on the streets.

On the end table, beneath my Glock, is a vacation
brochure that reads:

“
A small, rural town in Central Florida,
Cassadaga attracts thousands of visitors each year for one unique
reason. It’s a camp and winter retreat for spiritualists... Current
activities in the camp include psychic applications of: palmistry,
Tarot reading, astrology, and numerology, past life regression,
dream analysis, spiritual counseling and soul healing.”

Maybe a psychic can tell me who killed Abrams. I
toss the brochure into the stack of old newspapers headed for the
Waste Management dumpster. I’m anticipating, which nightmare will
haunt and punish me, when I lay my head on my pillow. I hate waking
up in a cold sweat in a dark room. I force my eyes to stay open but
they fight me and win. In the middle of the night, a nightmare,
once again, takes center stage.

The auburn-haired girl with the swastika carved in
her forehead stares at me as she does every night. She asks me the
same question, “Who gave you the right to kill me?”

I never have an answer for her.

The steamy hot water felt good. It caressed her
naked body along its path to the drain. She saw it like a baptism
that was washing her sins away. With her eyes closed, she thought
about how rugged and handsome he was. She was taken by his boyish
behavior, his sentimental eyes above the character creases in his
face, and his deep, masculine voice. Jake was a classic
lover-protector. With her head beneath the soothing waterfall in
the shower, she thought about the last time they made love.

His two fingers lay across my lips, and stopped me
in mid-sentence. I felt comfort and safety, pleasure in his arms.
His eyes communicated his desires. I kissed his neck, his strong
shoulders, and his chest. He straddled me. His intimate thrusts
became more aggressive and intense, until we clenched and remained
locked, pleading for the moment to last into eternity.

Mika had suppressed those thoughts over the past
years and chose to concentrate on her career. Seeing Jake brought
the memories back. She wasn’t sure whether to act on them, or place
them on the back shelf of her mind where they resided for years.
There was a job to do. She couldn’t let her emotions blind her now.
A serial killer was roaming, searching, hunting for more victims.
With all of the Bureau’s resources behind her, she still hadn’t
apprehended him. The steam floated and formed a cumulous cloud in
the bathroom as Mika stepped out of the shower. All she saw in the
fogged mirror was a faint apparition.

I still love him.

Reaching for a towel, she patted off the droplets.
The case was taking an obvious toll on her. The aches and pains
were brutal, and relentless. The mental strain threatened to crush
her. Her phone rang. Mika moved toward the nightstand, covered by a
large bath towel. Midway through the third ring, she answered
it.

“Scott.”

“Mika, the medical examiner’s report just came
in.”

“Anything helpful?”

“Just the usual disgusting medical verbiage with no
major revelations. I can have a copy over run to you if you like.
Sorry to bother you this late, I just thought you’d like to
know.”

“Not a problem, Ed. I would like to see it though. I
can be there in—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s on its way, and don’t
stay up all night studying the case. You need to get some sleep.
You never know when the bad guy is going to climb up out of the
coffin and strike again.”

“Thanks, dad.”

She heard him laughing on the other end.

“I mean that in a good way Ed, you’ve always been...
You’ve always looked after me, and I want you to know that means a
lot. I’ve been so preoccupied, I haven’t said ‘thank you’ like I
should.”

“Good night, Mika.”

The call disconnected. She held it for a moment.
Jake Roberts and her love life would have to wait.

* * *

Only five minutes counted down toward the end of the
day, when she placed the key in the lock. She bent down to retrieve
the last two days of newspapers then stepped into the foyer. She
dragged her wheeled travel bag behind. Lori was traveled out. It
had been a draining flight because of difficult passengers, an
unfriendly crew, and the tiresome jet lag. She needed sleep. She
wanted to be rested before her early morning appointment with her
Emily. There was a lot to talk about.

The fire engine wailer from her alarm clock forced
Lori’s eyes to snap open. It wasn’t an easy transition back from
her fatigue-induced sleep. She sat up in bed drowsy, but it was as
far as she got on the first try. She lay down again, convinced she
was no more ready for the world, than the world was ready for her.
It was an hour and thirty-eight minutes later, when she finally
awoke for good. She shuffled off to the bathroom for a brief visit
then went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. While waiting
for the coffee, she retrieved the latest newspaper left at her
doorstep to see what else happened in the world while she was away.
As she paged through it, the headline on page three caught her
eye.