The Promisor: A Suspense Thriller

by Dustin Stevens

  Shaking her head, Meigs replied, “I don’t think the man has any fight in him right now.”

  An assessment Reed could not disagree with.

  Considering what the man bore witness to the day before, he was surprised Harrison was even functioning.

  Leaving things with Meigs at that, Reed patted the leg of his jeans. Drawing Billie up from her post on the floor beside him, they made their way past the table Meigs had been seated on earlier, the box of donuts stripped away in the time since Reed left.

  “Mr. Salem,” Reed said as he entered the office. Continuing the pattern of diminishing sizes that seemed to have been taking place over the last day, the space was even smaller than Chief Scott’s a few minutes earlier.

  An area that could easily fit into a corner of Eleanor Brandt’s spread in Columbus, or even Captain Grimes’s at the 8th Precinct.

  Giving off the appearance of a cubicle for an adjunct professor at a community college somewhere, one wall was occupied by a bookcase of wood laminate that rose to Reed’s waist, the top lined with plants of various kinds. Bright flowers that perfumed the air and long vines hanging down, obscuring many of the photos and volumes behind them from view.

  Opposite the shelf was a desk spread the full width of the office. No more than six or seven feet across, the white plastic item was flush against the wall on either end with an aging monitor and computer tower atop it.

  Completing the office was a window directly in front of Reed. An oversized square with blinds turned open to allow plenty of natural light to spill in.

  A pale glow that acted to practically spotlight Harrison as he sat in a folding chair in front of the bookshelf. Assuming the same position as a day before, his features were almost ethereal as he stared straight ahead.

  A pose he maintained even as Reed and Billie both entered, not hearing the initial greeting.

  Grabbing the back of the rolling chair in front of the desk, Reed turned it to face Harrison. Lowering himself into it, he rested his elbows on his knees, matching the man’s pose, only a couple of feet separating them.

  A mirroring technique Reed had been taught long ago from the same person that imparted the trick he used on Aquino earlier in the day.

  “Mr. Salem,” Reed repeated softly. In his periphery, he saw as Meigs appeared in the doorway, bracing one shoulder against the frame. “Thank you for coming in to speak with us today.”

  Pausing there, he waited for some form of a response. Some flicker of movement or hint that his words were resonating.

  An answer that came in the form of Harrison shifting his gaze upward, a tendon in his neck flexing as he nodded stiffly.

  “Were you able to speak with Alex?” he whispered.

  “I was,” Reed replied, “but right now I actually want to talk to you.”

  Ignoring the comment entirely, Harrison replied, “Did he tell you about the things he’s done? The people he’s angered over the years?”

  Reed didn’t need to speak with Aquino to know all about those things. Plenty of that, he remembered simply by virtue of working in Columbus over the last five years.

  The rest, from speaking with Schoen and doing a bit of online sleuthing. A simple Google search that immediately returned enough information to have kept Reed up through the night trying to sift through it all.

  A sum that, if in Harrison’s position, would probably have him assuming that was the cause of all this as well. A man that had led a dangerous life, amassing enormous stockpiles of money and enemies alike.

  A reasonable conclusion that Reed himself was strongly considering, but could not allow himself to embrace wholesale. Not and completely break with accepted investigative norms, the first step always to start with the crime scene, the second the victim themselves.

  No matter how enticing their immediate family might be.

  Especially when the two existed in different worlds, a hundred miles and nearly two hours of drive time separating them. To say nothing of the fact that Aquino hadn’t even breathed free air in years.

  “He didn’t get a chance to,” Reed said. “After he found out what happened to his sister, he was in no position to talk.”

  Dipping his chin a couple times, Harrison cut his gaze toward the window beside them. “Say what you want about the man – and believe me, there is plenty to say – but he did love his sister. And she loved him.”

  “They were close?” Reed asked.

  “As close as they could be,” Harrison replied. “He was pretty adamant about keeping her far removed from what he did.”

  Flicking his gaze back toward Reed, he added, “Lot of good it did.”

  For as many questions as Reed still had on the topic, continuing down that avenue would lead nowhere good. Right now, he needed information about Cara, and he needed it to be untainted.

  Already, it was quite clear what Harrison thought of his brother-in-law, or at least that he thought his brother-in-law had gotten his wife killed. Every question that Reed posed was likely to get some form of the same answer. Something that always circled back to that, a full day of stewing on the matter having not just planted the thought in his mind, but nurtured it into full development.

  A looming presence that would only serve to do the same to Reed if he let it.

  A mistake he had made on past cases and refused to let happen again.

  Turning to glance out the window, Reed pretended to consider something happening outside. Some far-off occurrence that he studied for a moment, in truth just wanting to interrupt the back and forth that had developed.

  Create a clean break before starting anew.

  “How did you and Cara meet?” Reed asked. His voice lowered to just above a whisper, he rotated his focus back to see Harrison again staring at the space between them.

  Eyes glassed, he seemed to be lost in a different time, remaining there several moments before replying, “We met at a party.”

  Pausing, he allowed a corner of his mouth to flicker before adding, “Every time I would say that, Cara would correct me and say we met in a park, which, technically, were both right.”

  His features retreating back to their previous state, he continued, “Five years ago, Ohio State was playing this big early season night game, so some of the local businesses out in Westerville put on this huge block party. Brought in food trucks, put up bleachers and projector screens.

  “Must have been five hundred people there or more.”

  A suburb on the northeast corner of Columbus, Reed was familiar with the area. Living and working on the far side of the city, he didn’t get over there a great deal, but had been through enough times to have a rough schematic in his head.

  “I was a junior prosecutor for the city there at the time, only a few years removed from law school,” Harrison continued. “She was an elementary school teacher. We met in line waiting for shawarma, started joking about how neither of us even knew what it was, we were just hungry and it was the shortest line.”

  His voice dropped slightly as he added, “I don’t think we watched a single second of that game. Hell, I couldn’t even tell you who they played.”

  It was obvious to see and hear the man that he was hurting. Devastation that went beyond palpable to the level of visceral, his grasp on the present tenuous at best.

  A fragile state that meant Reed had to keep pushing - Harrison unlikely to offer much that wasn’t prompted - no matter how much he didn’t want to. No matter how evil it seemed to lean on someone going through what he was.

  Unpacking the various pieces of what was just shared, he picked the most innocuous place to start, asking, “Cara was from Westerville?”

  “Gahanna,” Harrison replied. “It’s, uh...well, you know.”

  Offering a nod of confirmation, Reed asked, “And she was a schoolteacher?”

  “Yes,” Harrison said. “Second grade. When we moved down here, she took some time off to overhaul the house. The place hadn’t been touched since my parents moved in forty y
ears ago, and it was pretty rundown.”

  Shifting his focus up to Reed, he added, “She was planning to get back into it this fall. Had even started volunteering at the library in town, just to be around the kids again.”

  To a greater degree even than when speaking with Meigs or Doc Blum the previous day, Reed hadn’t expected Harrison to say an ill word against his wife. Just looking at the man, it was clear the affection he felt for her. The sorrow that gripped him looked to be of the kind that would not soon be recovered from.

  If ever.

  Reed’s hope had been to narrow the list of reasons that she might have been targeted. Determine if there was anything other than her proximity to her brother that might have given cause for someone to take her life.

  A process that was managing to check a great many things off without adding much in return.

  “I understand you moved down here a few years ago to take over the family practice?” he asked.

  Another attempt to winnow things further. A way to ask if something happened, if there was a scandal, a threat of some kind, even a fear of remaining in Columbus that brought them south without actually saying as much.

  “Yeah,” Harrison replied. “Three years ago, after my father had a stroke and couldn’t take care of it or the house anymore.”

  Pushing himself upright in his chair, Harrison exhaled slowly through his nose. Leaning back in the seat, he again turned to the window.

  “Look, detective, I know what you’re trying to do here. I’m a lawyer, I know all about framing and reframing questions to get at the information you’re looking for.”

  Shifting his attention one last time, he fixed his red-rimmed eyes on Reed. “I appreciate your effort here, but I’m telling you, the only thing my wife ever did wrong in her life was being related to Alex Aquino.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Reed was able to get through one more chunk of questions before Harrison again circled back to his position of blaming his brother-in-law. A stock answer that the man had seized on in the last twenty-four hours, the only thing he could think of to make sense of what happened.

  A point to fixate on, preoccupying his active mind so it didn’t become overrun with memories or images like what he came home to find on the front sidewalk.

  Skipping over a great deal of background info that he would have liked to delve into, Reed went straight to the last couple of weeks. Inquiries as to if they had seen any sort of suspicious behavior. If Cara had mentioned feeling nervous or skittish. If they had noticed anybody around that didn’t quite belong or vehicles that they’d never seen before.

  A litany of questions that he rattled off quickly, not really expecting them to amount to much. Just as he wasn’t surprised when each was responded to in the negative, Harrison making it through barely more than a handful before bringing up Aquino again.

  A clear endpoint to the interview, Reed halting it soon thereafter, releasing him to continue his vigil over his wife’s body next door.

  “What did you think?” Meigs asked. Back from walking Harrison over to the coroner’s office, she assumed her previous position, leaning against the frame of the door.

  Playing the conversation back in his head, Reed had no qualms about whether or not the man was telling the truth. Given the state of his appearance and the obvious breaking in his voice, he was a man much too frazzled to be able to put together a coherent lie.

  Someone that had not just had the most important – and, based on the story shared about his parents, quite possibly the last - person in his life taken from him, but in a most cruel fashion. An ending that was not only far from natural, but forced him to be the one that found her.

  A discovery that will no doubt linger in the man’s psyche for the rest of his days. Harsh visuals that he will never be able to purge, there each time he closed his eyes at night.

  A replay that will lurk whenever his subconscious takes over, keeping restful sleep at bay for the foreseeable future.

  “There was some more stuff I would have liked to have gotten to, but his mind was already made up,” Reed replied.

  “Yeah,” Meigs agreed. “It was like watching him talking himself into it being his brother-in-law’s fault, and after that...”

  “Exactly,” Reed replied.

  Still perched on the desk chair where he spoke to Harrison, Reed extended a hand beside him. Finding the thick tuft of hair between Billie’s ears, he ran his fingers forward over her skull, carving deep furrows through her coat. Taking multiple passes, he felt her press back into his hand as he thought on what just took place and how it best dictated what came next.

  It was clear that two separate paths existed. Dual forks splitting away from the incident yesterday, one predicated on standard investigation procedure, the other the glaring presence looming over everything since first mentioned the previous afternoon.

  As to the latter, Reed was delving into Aquino as much as he could for now. He had made first contact with the man and delivered the news of his sister. Information that was received about the way he anticipated, requiring as much time as Reed could afford prior to circling back.

  A full day, if possible, for the man to get past his initial emotional outburst, work through the various associated phases, and eventually land at a point where he might be willing to help.

  A best-case scenario that Reed was not expecting in the slightest, though given the comments from Harrison about the way Aquino cared for his sister, was cautiously hopeful.

  In the meantime, he also had Schoen looking into anything that might be moving in Aquino’s old circles. People attempting to resurrect his business or with existing scores to settle. He was also checking through the new and emerging crowd, seeing if anybody might be trying to burst onto the scene with a powerful statement.

  A state of things that meant for the moment, Reed had gone about as far as he could with Aquino. A fact he despised admitting, but short of driving to Columbus and beginning to bang on doors, he had to resign himself to.

  Meaning that, for now, he needed to continue following the other option available to him.

  Standard procedure was for them to continue working the victim. Follow her through her last several days, dig into any unusual interactions, even delve into her spending habits or deviations from her daily regimen.

  “Are there any cameras in town?” Reed asked.

  “Cameras?” Meigs asked, her brows rising slightly in surprise.

  “Traffic cams, stuff like that.”

  “Oh,” Meigs replied. “No traffic cams, but I think the bank or the gas station might have some.”

  “Do you think you could get your hands on that footage?” Reed asked. “We have a time of death. Might get extremely lucky and see someone stopping for gas on their way out of town or even an unknown vehicle rolling by.”

  It was clear from the expression on Meigs’s face that she considered it as much a long shot as Reed did. Something that very nearly bordered on busywork, the task likely to accomplish nothing but burning through a few hours.

  To her credit, though, she didn’t voice as much.

  “Sure. Worth a swing.”

  Spreading his hands before him, Reed nearly fessed up that he knew the odds of them coming up with anything were remote at best. Finding anything useful would take a confluence of luck and their shooter making a massive error, neither of which had occurred once thus far.

  Still, it needed to be done. Just as he and Billie needed to swing by the library and the yoga studio and anywhere else that caught their eye this afternoon, speaking to as many people as they could.

  Folks who knew Cara and could be potential witnesses. Individuals she may have confided in or who might have noticed something off in their recent interactions.

  A path that was likely to turn up as little as the cameras, but also needed to be done.

  Both for Cara, and for the budding frustration Reed could already feel starting to fester within.

  Ch
apter Twenty-Four

  There was no doubt that a night in his own bed would have done wonders for The Promisor. Same for thirty or forty minutes standing under the hottest shower the aging pipes in his house could manage. Further still, a few cups of Kona coffee from the Keurig resting on the countertop in his kitchen.

  A trio of things that would have been the equivalent of a weekend at the spa. A veritable full-body massage both internal and external, leaving him fully recharged for the days ahead.

  Or so he guessed anyway, never having stooped to trying either a spa or a massage.

  Being in the middle of a mission though, such creature comforts were not to be considered. Extra benefits that would do nothing to help him complete his task, accomplishing nothing beyond lowering his guard. Dulling the edge that he had spent months honing, denying himself anything beyond the very basics.

  A return to his days in active duty, when sleep was grabbed whenever and wherever possible, often stretched flat on the ground. Showers were icy cold, blasting the nervous system awake.

  Coffee was strong and black, acting much like the motor oil it resembled and keeping the body lubricated and functioning at a high level.

  The previous night, he had allowed himself one small deviation. A brief respite from the strict routine of the previous days, swapping out the standard rations he’d been allotted for steak.

  A reward for himself and the twins both that had turned out to be preemptive. A treat he did not realize he was undeserving of until later in the evening when he finally peeled off the camouflage pants he was wearing to reveal a hole in the leg. A snag that must have gotten caught in the pallet he made, a small piece tearing away during his extraction.

  An error that could fall anywhere from completely unnoticed to his eventual undoing.

  A mishap that filled him with rage as he stomped through the living room and tossed the pants onto the fire. One more thing needing to be banished from the world. Reduced to ash, never to be seen again.

  Nearly eighteen hours later, the thought of the mistake still rested at the forefront of The Promisor’s mind. A lapse that he kept returning to as he stood in the shed behind his home, the taste of bile rising along the back of his throat as he meticulously cleaned the Mossberg rifle.