Hour of Reckoning (Donatella Book 2)

by Demetrius Jackson

  Jasmyn lightly jabbed him in his shoulder, rolled back to her side of the bed and stood up. “I’m going to take a shower,” she responded with a wry smile, tossing her pillow at him. “You have an hour to be ready. You don’t want to mess with a hormonal pregnant woman.”

  “Aye, aye, captain,” he said bringing his right hand to his forehead and giving her a salute.

  Jasmyn entered into the bathroom and Marcellous retrieved his smartphone from his nightstand. Entering the four-digit code, he unlocked the phone and pulled up his internet browser. With a few clicks, he acquired the site he was looking for, The Sal Report.

  Marcellous, a novelist by trade, enjoyed reading the articles posted by Sal on a daily basis. He was introduced to Sal by his wife and their baby’s soon to be godmother, Donatella Dabria. Sal covered the tragedy that took place in their community a few months prior. Had it not been for the heroic efforts of Donatella, he would have been another victim to perish in the senseless crime. Since that day, Marcellous made it a ritual to read Sal’s site every morning. Once the page loaded Marcellous was shocked to read the headline,

  Headline: Woman killed in home invasion

  www.TheSalReport.com

  By: Sal Grandson

  Last night at roughly 6:30 p.m. the residents within the Piper Stone apartment complex were stunned at the death of one of their own. 36-year-old Samantha Taylor was found murdered in her apartment at 631 Sapphire Ave. by an unidentified person. Detective Carl Sampson with the Charlotte Metro Police Department have been assigned to the case and thus far have remained tight-lipped concerning any particulars. Neighbors say Ms. Taylor was well-liked and never had a cross word with anyone. Some suspect she had a boyfriend, though they never saw Samantha out with anyone. When questioned about the search for the unidentified boyfriend, Detective Sampson gave a “No comment” response. However, after conducting additional research, it’s believed by this reporter that there is a boyfriend, or at least a person of interest, and the police plan to speak with this person as soon as today.

  Marcellous sat stunned with this news. This was the first murder Sal had reported on in quite some time. Also, the name Samantha Taylor seemed familiar to him. Normally surefooted with names, Marcellous was finding it difficult to place this particular name. Samantha Taylor, Samantha Taylor. The more he thought about it, the further the name moved into the recesses of his mind.

  He heard the water pressure of the shower cease pushing its way through the showerhead and Jasmyn open the door for the shower. He knew this meant it was his turn to hop into the shower if he was to adhere to the hour deadline his wife had given him. Looking one more time at the article and the name, Samantha Taylor, he still could not retrieve from his memory why he recognized it. Nonetheless, he stripped out of his pajamas and headed to the bathroom to take his shower.

  December 11th – 8:15 a.m.

  Adam Joseph sat, hands cradling his forehead, forefingers massaging the pounding behind his temples. Although he could hear the forced air pushing the heat through the vents, his body had broken into a cold sweat. A sweat that was now running over his palm, down the side of his arm. The vice grip tightness in his stomach would have him doubled over in pain if he didn’t think his head would explode if he removed his hands. From the moment he pulled the trigger on the gun, ending Samantha’s life, everything was a shaded haze.

  “Well done, Adam. I’m sure your family appreciates everything you’ve done here tonight. Now if you would be so kind, I’ll relieve you of that gun.”

  Adam dropped the gun from his shaking fingers, “I think I’m going to be sick,” he said pulling his hand to his mouth.

  “I highly recommend you hold in your bodily fluids or the cops will be at your door this evening. Why don’t you go to your car, drive to your house, and make animal love to your wife? Forget all about the slut laying on the ground. She is no longer any concern of yours.”

  “But, what will you do with her. Please, please do not –” Bile began to fill his esophagus putting a halt to his words.

  “I thought I told you I do not like to repeat myself. Rest assured, I will not defile her in any way. I just have a few loose ends I need to tie up before I leave. Now get in your car and drive straight home.”

  Adam was still mortified that he took a life. Not just a life, the life of his love. The life of Samantha. He felt himself getting sick once again and decided he should leave immediately. He turned, slumped his shoulders and staggered toward the door.

  “One more thing Mr. Joseph. If you decide to make any stops or make any calls before you arrive home, I’ll make good on my promise – and I’ll burn the house down with you inside as well.”

  Adam turned around silently, turned the handle, opened the door and walked to his car.

  Reliving the moment was worse than when he pulled the trigger. At that moment his adrenaline was spiking and the only thing on his mind was saving his daughters’. Even though he loved his wife, he would not have taken the life of Samantha by his own hands had it not been for his three daughters in the house as well. This sickened him even more. The fact that he would be willing to let his wife burn to save his mistress.

  To add to his frustrations – the cops. The cops came pounding on his door at 8 a.m. His wife, Evelyn, was in the kitchen making coffee while he lay curled in the bed. The pounding startled his wife and woke his youngest daughter, Megan. While Evelyn made her way to the door, weary of the early caller, Megan perched behind the rod iron poles adorning the handrail of the stairs.

  “We have a warrant for the arrest of Adam Joseph,” the officer exclaimed pushing his way through the door and casting aside Evelyn.

  Her scream, more like a wail, startled him from his sleep and sent Megan into tears.

  “Adam! My God, Adam! It’s the police!” Tears now flowing down her face.

  Adam hurried out of the bed as he heard footsteps echoing on the hardwood steps. His mind was still in a haze yet he clearly recalls the feeling of expectation. After what he had done last night, he expected the police would come calling at his door. He didn’t think it would be this soon, but he knew they would arrive.

  The door to their master bedroom bursts open and he was staring down the barrel of three, no four guns. “Hands up, on the ground!” one of the officers demanded.

  Adam dropped to his knees and placed his hands behind his head. One of the officers threw him roughly to the ground, placed his knee in his back, and wrenched his left, then his right arm behind his back. He dimly heard his wife downstairs sobbing in between gulps trying to regulate her breathing. His two older children were also awake and crying. Adam was yanked roughly to his feet while another officer began to mirandize him.

  “Adam Joseph, you are under arrest for the murder of Samantha Taylor –”

  “Murder!” Evelyn yelled as they walked Adam down the stairs. “Oh my God Adam, what are they talking about?” was the last thing he heard before his mind quit processing information.

  The metal door to the interrogation room opened and Adam knew his nightmare was only about to worsen. Detective Carl Sampson lowered himself into the chair across from Adam and lay a file, closed, onto the table.

  His team worked feverishly throughout the night searching for clues, any clues. The CSI team scoured Samantha’s apartment, only to find it had been scrubbed clean. No prints to be found anywhere within the living, bedroom, or kitchen. Of course, this registered as suspicious as there were no prints found for Samantha either. To Detective Sampson and his team this murder had all the making of a professional hit. The break they needed came from the coroner.

  “What do you have for me, Miranda?”

  “Good evening, Detective Sampson,” she stated in her clip, matter-of-fact voice. “Upon undressing the victim and preparing to place her clothing into evidence, I noticed some gelatinous residue on the back of her jeans. I lay the jeans flat on the table and grabbed my magnifying glasses. Initial inspection of the garment yielded a surp
rising result – a palm print.

  Detective Sampson raised an eyebrow, “A palm print?”

  “Yes, a palm print. I made a call upstairs and Jennifer came down with the fingerprint dusting kit and her camera. She took a few shots of the palm print, you’ll find those in the folder behind you on the table, and began the process of dusting the pants. After a few moments, the outline of a hand could be seen in addition to the perfect impression of the forefinger, middle finger and ring finger. They were radiated out from the crotch of the jeans, over to the left pocket. From what I can tell, the person was facing the victim and grabbed a firm handful of her bottom with their right hand.”

  “What was the material on her jeans?”

  “Yes, I was just getting to that. Once Jennifer had completed her work, I took a sample of the material and prepared the Isotope Ratio Mass Spectrometer. The sample included Carbomer, Triethanolamine, Benzophenone-4 and Glycerin.”

  “Come on now, Miranda, you know me and chemistry were not best friends.”

  With a stern, motherly look, she continued, “These elements are used in your typical hair gel. The person who touched, make that grabbed, her bottom had run their fingers through their hair shortly before making that impression. My findings are also in the folder. Jennifer is going to run the fingerprints and will likely have that ready for you by the time you darken her doorstep.”

  “Thank you, Miranda,” he said while giving her a peck on the cheek.

  “Mr. Joseph, my name is Detective Carl Sampson. I’ve been assigned to work the murder of Samantha Taylor. Do you know Ms. Taylor, Mr. Joseph?”

  Adam stared blankly at Sampson.

  Unphased Sampson continued, “Ms. Taylor was murdered last night while in her apartment. Here’s the thing Adam, it’s ok if I call you Adam, right?”

  Sampson didn’t wait for the response and continued to plow through.

  “There was no sign of forced entry into her apartment. You’re a smart man, Adam, and I’m sure you know what that means. Buuut in case it’s not clear to you, she knew the person who was last in her apartment. So, let me ask you again, do you know Ms. Taylor?”

  Adam remained mute, eyes focused on Sampson – unblinking.

  “Adam, what I think is you were at her apartment last night. In fact, I’m willing to bet my last paycheck that you’ve been to her apartment before. Does your wife –”

  He looked down to consult his notes.

  “Evelyn know about Samantha? Does she know the two of you have been sleeping together?”

  Still speechless, a bead of sweat had begun to form on the tip of his nose. Sensing he had hit a nerve, Detective Sampson slowly and deliberately opened the folder, removed a picture and slid it across the table to Adam.

  He pressed on, “What you have in front of you, Adam, is a close up of the victim’s jeans with a palm print on the ass.” He pulled out a second picture, “This is a close up of the jeans once they had been dusted for fingerprints. See the full outline of the hand along with the fingerprints?”

  Adam looked down at the picture and recalled the moment he walked into Samantha’s apartment. She had closed the door once he walked in. When she turned to face him, he pulled her into a close embrace before deeply and passionately kissing her. He could remember how he had stiffened as her tongue wrestled with his. He recalled sliding his hand down the small of her back to her lush ass. He remembered the moment he firmly cupped her bottom, forefinger tantalizingly close to her sweet honey spot. In response she bit him playfully on his bottom lip giving it a tug. In abject horror, he also recalled running his hand through his hair before leaving his car and making the short jaunt to her apartment.

  Detective Sampson could see flickers of recollection and pressed harder. He pulled a report from the folder and placed it on the table. “Adam, this is a fingerprint analysis performed from the fingerprint impression on the jeans. I’m sure you can guess whose fingerprints we found on those jeans.”

  Even though Adam had not spoken a word, he made an audible gulp as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

  “What happened, Mr. Joseph? Did you want to break things off and she threatened to tell your wife? Did you just get bored with her like you had your wife and decided you needed to tie up loose ends?”

  Pulling the crime scene photo of Samantha laying on the ground, he slammed it on the table. “Had she become pregnant and you decided you couldn’t chance the truth of your indiscretions coming to light?”

  He realized his voice had raised and he was now yelling, but he was not going to stop there. “Or are you just a sick bastard and killed her for no reason other than to get your kicks off? Answer me, damn it!”

  In a meek, barely audible voice Adam finally broke his silence, “I loved her, and no she wasn’t pregnant.”

  “If you loved her. IF YOU LOVED HER, then why in the hell did you do this to her?” He jabbed his finger three times into the photo of Samantha laying on the ground. If you loved her, why did you kill her?”

  A vacant ghostly expression had overcome Adam’s face, but he spoke no more words.

  The blue light above Adam’s head illuminated the room. Detective Sampson realized his breath had become shallow and his heart rate had spiked. Slamming his palms on the table as he stood, he simply said, “You killed her.” He removed the last photo from his folder and placed it on the table. It was a picture of Samantha prior to her death. A picture of her with her broad smile beaming across her slender face and a sparkle that shone in her lively eyes.

  On the other side of the interrogation room door Detective Sampson was interrupted by Officer Johnson.

  “Sir, there is someone here to see you. It’s, it’s –”

  Already at the end of his rope, Sampson snapped, “Spit it out Johnson!”

  “It’s the FBI.”

  “The FBI?” Sampson asked perplexed.

  “Yes sir. It’s Special Agent Donatella Dabria. She’s insisting that she speak with the suspect.”

  “Oh, is she now? And under what grounds does she feel she can speak with our suspect?”

  “She refused to provide me with any details – only that she speaks with you immediately.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She’s waiting for you in your office.”

  Perturbed by the interruption when he knew Adam was on the brink of breaking, at least that is what he hoped, he mustered self-control and proceeded to his office. He was familiar with Agent Dabria. A few months prior she singlehandedly put an end to the abductions taking place within the community at Driftwood Springs. In doing so, she was able to expose a crooked detective working for CMPD. A discovery she made only by way of him firing shots at her within her own home. This discovery was a shock to the force and Internal Affairs began to scrutinize each officer on the force more closely than they had in the past. Although the initial barrage of inquiries ceased, a close watchful eye was always nearby

  Upon entering his office, he saw Donatella standing picturesque in the corner staring inquisitively at a framed photo on his wall. “Special Agent Dabria, I understand you wanted to speak with me.”

  As she turned ready to address him, the remaining words choked off in his throat, his mind struggled to regain coherent thoughts and he did everything he could not to stare – but he was severely failing.

  Donatella Dabria stood six feet tall with piercing hazelnut brown eyes. Eyes that could simultaneously comfort and destroy without hesitation. Her complexion, a luxurious golden-brown, was smooth, flawless, and glowing from the ambient light within the room. She had long, silky jet-black hair that curled its way down to slightly below the top of her shoulders. She wore a simple yet sleek two button black blazer atop a white-collared button-down shirt. Her matching black slacks accentuated the seductive curve of her hips while the fabric continued to flow down the length of her long legs with the hem pausing just above the crease in her shoe.

  “Ah yes, Detective Sampson,” she spoke in her mesmerizin
g southern drawl. “It certainly is a pleasure to meet you,” she said extending her right hand.

  The synapses once again fired in his brain and Sampson was able to respond, “It’s a pleasure meeting you as well, Special Agent Dabria.” He shook the proffered hand. “Please, have a seat,” he motioned her to an awaiting chair. “What can I do for you today?”

  “Yes,” she said lowering herself in the visitor chair and crossing her left leg over her right. “I understand you apprehended a suspect in the murder of Ms. Samantha Taylor. A gentleman by the name of Adam Joseph. Is that correct?”

  Detective Sampson regarded her curiously. This information, none of this information, had been shared outside of his department yet. How could she possibly know all of this? Do we have a leak in our department?

  Sensing the dismay from his furrowed brows and hesitancy to speak she attempted to set his mind at ease, “Rest assured, detective, this information did not come by way of anyone from your department. I have my ways of obtaining information that you need not trouble yourself with at this time.”

  The tension that built within Sampson began to subside as his eyebrows returned to their resting state. “Agent Dabria, assuming you are correct, though I’m not saying that you are, what interest is this homicide to the FBI?”

  “Detective Sampson, I believe I know the person responsible for this heinous crime and my belief is the man you are holding, Adam Joseph isn’t entirely at fault.”

  “Isn’t entirely at fault! Are you kidding me?”

  “I assure you detective, I am not kidding you. In fact, I’m willing to wager Mr. Joseph hasn’t provided much to propel your case forward.”

  Sampson began to speak; however, he was halted by the raised hand of Donatella.

  “Detective Sampson, in no means am I hear to take over your case; however, if I’m correct this isn’t a simple homicide.”