Chained Guilt (Hidden Guilt (Detective Series) Book 1) (14 page)

I made a sharp right turn on the next street I came to, and the bikes closed in on me. I quickly pulled the hand brake, and the car skidded to a near halt, burning rubber along the way. Both bikes swerved crazily to avoid rear-ending the car and flew by. I disengaged the hand brake and slammed the car in reverse, my foot pressed down on the accelerator. The narrow street I found myself on was relatively empty. I dodged a few parked cars and upended some trash cans, but otherwise my plan to avoid busy streets was paying off. I didn’t want to involve innocent pedestrians or occupied vehicles in my ploy.

I knew the bikers would be doing everything they could  to catch me, and their guard would be down. I reached into the bag on the passenger seat and pulled out the grenade. I watched closely in my rearview mirror, rolled down the window, pulled the pin, and waited. Just as the bikes drew near, I tossed the grenade at the biker on the driver’s side. I watched in my side mirror as it detonated just in front of the bike and rider and sent both flying twenty feet into the air.

I keyed the button on the walkie-talkie. “And then there was one, Carter.”

My phone rang. While keeping an eye on the street ahead of me and glancing repeatedly in the rearview mirror to keep track of my lone pursuer, I turned on my phone and cradled it between my shoulder and my ear.

“Porter.”

“Porter, I got your guy. “ Mitchell laughed. “He came running out of the hotel without any baggage or anything. I almost passed him by while walking up the hotel steps. I did a double-take, and he ran for a cab. No use . . . I yanked him into the alley next to the hotel and Tasered him right in the back. He squirmed like all get-out while I handcuffed him.  Then we made our way back to my car and off we went. Why didn’t you tell me he was the soft, office type? I thought I was going to have a fight on my hands.”

“Good going, Mitchell. I’m almost done here. I’ll meet you back at your place.”

I flipped off my lights, made a hard turn into the lane the last gunmen was in and slammed on the brakes. The biker slid in an attempt to avoid me and ended up laying his bike down in the street. He flew off his bike and rolled several times until the curb stopped him. I slammed the car in park, leapt out, and ran toward him. He was still alive, but not for long. I stood over him and put one in his head. That quickly, it was done.

              I left the newly beat up Mazda where it was and hot-wired a car parked a short distance down the street—another skill I’d learned long ago. In less than ten minutes, I was pounding on Mitchell’s front door.

“Where is he?” I said to Mitchell, shouldering my way inside minus any type of formal greeting.

“Took you long enough. C’mon, I’ll take you down to him.”

I hurried down a narrow set of stairs to Mitchell’s basement. There I found a shirtless, bound and gagged John Carter. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” I said.

My blood surged as I stared at the man I believed responsible for the disappearance and probable death of my wife. Without hesitation, I punched Carter in the face, knocking him and the chair over. Mitchell picked them back up, and I hit him again. I didn’t like the look in Carter’s eyes, so I released a barrage of punches at his face. One of his eyes had swelled shut and his entire face was a bloody mess before I stopped. Mitchell looked way too calm; he just sat there, popping sunflower seeds into his mouth like he was watching a baseball game.

“I guess you know by now that I heard you tell Abu my wife is . . .  how did you put it? Out of the way?”

Carter didn’t respond.

“Okay, Carter. If that’s the way you want to play it. Wanna help me out here, Mitchell?”

“Oh yeah,” Mitchell said, popping in another handful of seeds. “I got just the thing to make this asshole squeal like a pig.”

I ripped the tape off Carter’s mouth while Mitchell reached for a set of jumper cables. He attached them to a charger.

“Wait!” Carter exclaimed, his bravado gone now. “Porter, I didn’t have nothing to do with your wife, I swear!”

“Why the hell would I believe that?” I asked him. “You needed her gone to protect your disgusting sex slave business!”

“No! Well . . . I did, but I didn’t kill her! I hadn’t even talked to my guys about it. I might have needed her gone eventually, yes, but somebody beat me to it. I didn’t even know about her report. I didn’t know she was on to me before all this went down.”

“Shut up!” I snapped. “Now, I’m going to ask you this one time and one time only, so listen carefully.” I stood over him.  “What did you do to my wife?”

“Porter, think about what you’re doing,” Carter blubbered, eyes wide. “Think about your girls.”

I shrugged. “Who’s here to see? I know exactly what I’m doing. It’s you who should have thought about what you were doing before you killed my wife!”

I took the cables and attached the leads, one for each of Carter’s nipples. I looked over at Mitchell and nodded. Mitchell flipped the unit on and gave Carter a jolt of electricity.

Carter screamed as his body convulsed. The outer layer of skin burned where the cables were attached. The smell of burned hair and fried skin was both disgusting and gratifying. I gave it a second more for good measure and gestured for Mitchell to stop.

“Porter, I’m warning you. You’re playing with fire here!” Carter yelled.

“You’re tied to a chair with an electric device strapped to your nipples, in a foreign country, with the man whose wife you killed, and you’re threatening me?”

“Okay, okay. You’re right. I’m sorry. Let’s—”

I nodded to Mitchell to hit him again.

Carter slumped over in the chair. The last hit had definitely weakened him. He tried to speak, but nothing but spittle came out. I walked over and lifted his head.              

“You got something you need to say?”

“Porter, there’s nothing else I can say,” he stammered. “After I found out your wife might be onto us, I needed her out of the picture. But I swear to you, I had nothing to do with it.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“There’s no one else on this planet who would want to harm Miranda. You see, Carter, there’s this little thing called motive, and you’re the only one who had one. I can do this all night; I nod, you get hit. Haven’t you figured that out yet? If my wife is dead, tell me as much so I can find her body and start putting the pieces of my life back together. Either way, I’m going to kill you here tonight. You decide if you want to go out with any dignity.”

I signaled to Mitchell. Carter screamed as the current shot through him. Seconds later he slumped in the chair again.

The look on Mitchell’s face told me he had done this before, probably more than once. He was way too comfortable with it. I acted tough, but this was out of character for me. Deep down, I knew it was wrong, but my anger told me to keep pushing.

“Take the cables off him,” I instructed. “What else you got?”

Mitchell walked over to a box in a corner of the room and came back with a blindfold and a bucket. We put the blindfold over Carter’s eyes and lay his chair down onto the floor. Mitchell went over to the sink and filled the bucket with cold water.

“Listen, asshole. Thanks to you, I got no wife waiting up for me at home. No curfew, nowhere to be. You’re the only thing on my mind right now.” 

I took the bucket and slowly poured water over Carter’s face.
Nothing like a little makeshift waterboarding
. When Carter stopped flailing, I stopped pouring.

“I killed her!” the mayor yelled.

“What did you say?” I choked out the words from between clenched teeth. “Don’t whisper, speak up! Say it loud and proud, you piece of shit!”

“I killed her! I killed her, damn you! They forced her off the road. She flew through the windshield into the river and they left. I had to get rid of her! That what you wanted to hear?” Carter wailed, tears streaming down his face.

“You lie!”

Mitchell refilled the bucket, and I began pouring again.

“There was no way she went through the windshield. I was at the crime scene, you moron. I saw the car.  They dragged Miranda from the car. The windshield was intact. What did you assholes do to her before you threw her over the railing and into the lake?”

A few seconds went by before Carter could regain enough wits to respond. “We didn’t do anything to her, I swear. They . . . they pulled her out and tossed her in the lake. That was it. Please, Porter, I told you what you wanted! Don’t kill me.”

I dropped the bucket, fury surging through me. Carter was sticking to his story, but I knew the evidence didn’t support it. The comment he’d made about the windshield came out too quickly; it wasn’t contrived. I knew that. He wouldn’t have mentioned it if he’d known the windshield was intact. He simply wasn’t that intelligent. I still believed Carter was somehow behind Miranda’s death, but I realized I wouldn’t get the confession I had sought. I also knew getting it would not make me feel one bit better about Miranda being gone.

I thought seeing Carter crying and begging for his life would make me feel good, but it didn’t. It truly only added to my pain.

“Take off the blindfold and sit him up,” I said to Mitchell.

I turned back to Carter, water and snot streaming down his face. “As bad as I want to, I’m not going to kill you. I’m taking you back to the States with me, along with all the evidence I have against you. I’m going to turn it over to the DA and watch you serve the rest of your sorry life behind bars. We’ll start with kidnapping and murder; I’m sure there’ll be more as we go. You’ll have plenty of time to think about the choices you’ve made and the lives you’ve ruined.”

Carter said nothing. With a nod to Mitchell, I trudged up the stairs and out of his basement. I pulled the phone from my pocket and punched in the captain’s number. After three rings, he answered.

“Cap, I got him,” I said, my voice heavy with weariness. “I’m bringing him back with me. I got all the evidence we need to bury this scumbag.”

“What about the rest of his crew?” Wilcrest said.

“They didn’t make it. I’ll make flight arrangements in the morning,” I said. “I have him secured. I’ll call you tomorrow with the details.”

21

I spent the night at Mitchell’s, woke up early, and got ready to head to the airport. I signaled for a cab and tried to keep my head down in case someone had seen me shoot the guy in the street the day before. If that was the case, the cops would be looking for a man who fit my description.

“Where to?” the cabbie said in broken English as he pulled next to me on the curb.

“The airport.”

The ride was uneventful, for which I was grateful. I headed for the airport security office and explained that I was a US police officer, and I’d be taking a prisoner back with me later in the day. When the security office personnel called the local police department, they were informed that the prisoner would need to be interviewed by the police before leaving the country. I was afraid of this, and hoped there would be no problems leaving with Carter. I made the necessary flight arrangements and caught a cab back to Mitchell’s place.

I paid the cabbie and stood outside after banging on Mitch’s door for what seemed like five minutes.

“Hey, Ranger, c’mon in,” Mitchell said looking around to make sure I was alone.

I went down to the basement to check on Carter who was sound asleep. He definitely wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m going to catch a few z’s before I have to head out to the airport,” I said to Mitch when I returned from the basement.

“Go ahead. I’ll keep an eye on Carter.”

Mitchell offered me his bedroom, but I opted for the couch instead. I knocked a few things onto the floor and laid my head down. I didn’t sleep well, or very long, as it turned out. I sat up, came to my senses, and made a bathroom pit stop before heading back down to the basement to round up my travel partner.

Carter said nothing as I untied him from the chair, stood him up, and pulled the handcuffed bastard up the basement stairs.

“Okay, Mitch. Time for me and this scumbag to head back home. Thanks for everything.”

“No problem, Ranger,” Mitchell said. “I cleaned him up for you the best I could. If you decide to come back to Dubai for some R & R, you let me know. I know
all
the spots. You find some mean shoot-’em-up action for us to throw down with Mexico, Columbia, Russia . . . hell, I don’t care who . . . you can call me then, too. I’m old, but hell, at this point I’d even do a bar fight just for some action. Tell Wilcrest to take care.”

“Will do, buddy. Will do.”

Mitchell was definitely someone you wanted on your team. I knew if something ever went down, I had a lifetime warrior friend I could call on.

An hour later, I was in the airport security office, waiting to speak to the local police.

“I’m Sergeant David Porter,” I said. “I need to speak with Police Chief Amir. I have an appointment.”

“Yes, he awaits you.” The security officer gestured to the door behind him. He looked at Carter. “Is this your prisoner?”

I nodded, and we followed the officer down a narrow hallway to a closet-sized office, its walls painted institution green and peeling badly. Behind a tiny desk and nearly hidden by mounds of paperwork, a dark-skinned man in a forest-green uniform sat in the single, fold-open metal chair. There was barely enough room for us to stand before him.

“Ahh, Mr. Porter,” the man said. “I am Amir. You’ve had an exciting couple of days here in Dubai, eh?”

“Not sure what you’re referring to,” I replied. “Just apprehended a murderer on the run.” I nodded my chin toward Carter. “Figured you’d be appreciative that I took him off the streets for you.”

“Appreciative? What about the damage you caused during your little high-speed chase?”

“Again, not sure what you’re referring to,” I said. 

I knew Amir couldn’t prove I was responsible, but he wasn’t stupid, either. He was simply letting me know he knew what I’d been up to.

“What happened to your prisoner? He looks pretty beat up.”

“That’s what happens when you attack a police officer who’s trying to do his job. Being hit, kicked, and spit on doesn’t bode well with me when I’m trying to make a lawful arrest. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose,” Amir said with a lazy shrug.

“I simply used the force needed to get the job done—nothing more, nothing less.”

“Let’s cut the crap, Porter,” Amir said. “You know I can’t put anything on you, but the next time you decide to visit Dubai, don’t.”

“If that’s all you got, I’d like to get back home . . . sir.”

There was a long silence and a bit of a staring match between us
.
Amir glared at me for a few seconds longer and then got up and left the room. I followed him, Carter still in tow. No one bothered us as we went through security, headed to our gate, and boarded our flight ten minutes before the plane was scheduled to leave.

I sat on the aisle, Carter in the window seat. He stared sullenly out at the tarmac. I watched as an attractive young flight attendant approached.

“Excuse me, sir,” the flight attendant said. “The Captain would like to have a word with you.”

What now? Another interrogation about my beat-up prisoner? I guess they didn’t do that type of thing here. I couldn’t figure it out. With a sigh, I nodded. I shot Carter a look of warning as I removed one of his handcuffs and attached it securely to the armrest. He didn’t bother to look at me. I followed the attendant to the front of the plane. She knocked once on the door separating the flight control deck from the first-class passenger cabin. The door opened and I stepped inside. The captain turned in his seat and gave me the once-over.

“Officer Porter,” he said in near-perfect English. “I understand you have a prisoner with you. This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”

“Not for me. You won’t even know he’s on board, Captain.” 

“I hope not,” he replied. “I’ve got a clean record. I’d kinda like to keep it that way.”

“Likewise, sir.”

When he dismissed me with a nod, I made my way back to my seat, relieved.

Carter slept most of the way back. I didn’t. It was an eighteen-hour flight, and all I could think of was Miranda. As the flight landed and the plane taxied to the gate, I removed Carter’s handcuff from the armrest and locked his hands together. We exited the plane  to find Captain Wilcrest and two of my peers waiting to take charge of the disgraced
mayor. 

“Wow, Porter! Looks like Carter tried to evade arrest, eh?” one of the officers said.

“Yep. Scared of going to prison and finding out who his new daddy’s going to be.  I told him he’d get used to it, though. They all do.”

Wilcrest leaned in close to me. “What happened to him, David? His face looks like—”

“Better we don’t talk about it,” I muttered. “You can’t get in trouble for something you don’t know.”

“Well, actually I can. You’re confident Carter is behind Miranda’s death?”

I nodded. “One hundred percent. Her report threatened to expose him for the scum he is. You can’t be the mayor of Houston and be sending money to help fund an international sex slave operation. I just wish I’d asked more questions while she was working on it.”

I paused for a minute, swallowing hard to clear the lump of emotion in my throat.

“Maybe I could’ve protected her. Some of the stuff she was going to accuse him of is pretty bad. I can only assume she didn’t think Carter was capable of murder, in spite of what she was going to pin on him. I still don’t have all the pieces. Carter’s story didn’t completely add up in regard to the crime scene. Or maybe his goons didn’t give him all of the details or gave him the wrong details.” I sighed with an overwhelming weariness. “I don’t know.”

“I’m just glad you can get some closure here. You did good work. We’ll get those recordings and photos downloaded to the DA’s office. Not many of us can say they chased a man halfway across the world to capture them.”

“Not many of us can say their wife was murdered either, Cap. It’s a bittersweet victory, if that’s even what it is.”

I handed my laptop to the captain. “I’m going home to be with my girls.”

“One down and one to go,” the captain said. “We still got this child-killing maniac to bring to justice.”

“Don’t worry, Cap. Now that this case is solved, that’ll be my number one concern. I’m going to nail his ass too.”

I retrieved my truck from the short-term parking lot and began the long, lonely drive home. I knew the hardest part was still ahead of me. I would have to tell the girls the truth about what I knew.

Halfway home, it hit me. I pulled my truck to the side of the road as tears warmed my eyes and ran down my face. I banged the steering wheel with a closed fist until the pain was too much. I screamed and yelled. I cursed myself.

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. I cried till there were no tears left in me. My rollercoaster of emotions had finally hit rock bottom. I was mad, hurt, and tired—mentally and physically. I’d held it all in for as long as I could, and I definitely didn’t want to fall apart in front of the girls. They were going to need me now more than ever. I would not return to this place of weakness and despair again.

I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and put the truck back in gear.

22

My parents and in-laws were both at my house spending time with the girls. I called ahead to let them know I would be home shortly and asked them all to stay till I arrived. I needed to sit down with them and tell them what I knew. Better to hear it from me than read about it on the internet or hear a report on the nightly news. The girls were going to need all the support they could get. They all needed closure, an ending point so they could begin to grieve and move forward with their lives.

Karen and Hilary met me at the door.

“Dad, what’s going on?” Hilary said.

Her question came before I entered the house. Her voice sounded unsettled. My oldest daughter surely had an inkling of what I was about to say. I gathered them all in the living room. Six somber, pale faces stared at me. I cleared my throat.

“I’m going to tell you all something very important. I want to do it with everyone together. I need to clear up some things before you hear differently in the media.”

“Daddy?” Karen said, her eyes filling with tears.

I cleared my throat again, and before the first word even came out I began to tear up.

“I’ve done this at least a hundred times during my career as a cop.”

I choked out the words as Hilary’s eyes filled with tears. Miranda’s parents paled, slumped on the sofa beside me. Karen crawled into my lap.

My heart hurt for what I was about to do to my little girls. It was different this time. This was not delivering the news to a husband or wife I didn’t know. This was not walking in, saying what you gotta say and leaving.  I don’t get to leave this time.

“Take your time, son,” my dad said.

He took a step toward me and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Miranda was working on a story that would have sent John Carter, our mayor, to prison for a long time.” I looked down at my youngest. “Karen, do you understand that, honey?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, her eyes wide and swimming with tears. “The big story Mommy was working so hard on.”

“You stop! Stop right now!”

Miranda’s mother leapt up from the sofa and stared at me, her face drained of all color.

“There is no way you’re going to make this Miranda’s fault,” she cried.

Tom reached out to his wife and encouraged her to sit back down. “He’s not blaming Miranda,” he told her. “Let him finish.” 

“None of this is Miranda’s fault,” I said. “I want you to know what happened and why.”

I related the story, sharing the facts in a manner I hoped the girls could understand. 

“Dad, spare us all these details, please,” Hilary demanded. “Did you find Mom? Is she coming home?” She swatted her tears away with the back of her hand.

“No, Hilary, she’s not coming home. Your mother is . . . she’s gone.”

“No!” Hilary cried. “You promised! You swore you would bring her home!”

“I tried, honey, but it was already too late. I did everything I could.”

“I hate you!” she said, flinging herself into my mother’s open arms.

Karen burrowed herself into my chest as the finality of my news sank in, her tears soaking my shirt. Everyone cried. No pretenses. We hurt, and hurt deeply, but I was determined to hold my
emotions in check. The girls needed me. The pain of watching my little girls suffer knifed through me. I felt like an absolute failure.