Stolen Lives: A Detective Mystery Series SuperBoxset

by James Hunt

  “Not just any story, Detective. My last story, my destined ending, my final act!” The killer thrust his hands into the air and twirled in circles around the basement floor. “I put everything into motion that day, researching you, learning about your past. You had such a thirst for justice. And I knew you couldn’t turn down the opportunity to expose Quentin Farnes, but you needed a push to get it done. I helped you, Detective. And when we’re done here, there won’t be a single person that doesn’t know our names. We’ve worked this city into a frenzy. Your name is national news!” He hunched over, his fists curled into tight balls close to his chest. “This is everything we’ve been waiting for. And now, finally, it’s here.” The killer caressed the television, which was still blank, and his demeanor calmed.

  It was all too much, but Cooper forced her mind to concentrate, searching for something solid, something to bring her back to the present. “Hart. Where is he?”

  The killer pressed the power button, and the television pinged to life. The screen was fuzzy at first, but slowly the picture sharpened, and Cooper saw Hart trapped in a Plexiglas box, pounding and screaming, though no sound emanated from the picture. “There he is.” The killer waved his hands around the television like Vanna White. “Now, I know what he did to you, betraying you, spying on you for Farnes. Tsk tsk.” He thumped the top of the television hard, twice. “But then again, he does have a child on the way, a little girl if I’m not mistaken.” He drummed his fingers on top of the box.

  “I kill you, and he dies,” Cooper said robotically.

  “Ding, ding, ding! Very good, Detective. Very good.” The killer sat on the table next to the television and then removed a clock from behind it and set it on top. It counted down from three minutes, the seconds ticking away. “This is how much time your partner has left for breathable air. Once it hits zero, he suffocates.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a smartphone, encrypted with a lock. “I type in the code here and it gives him an extra minute of air.”

  The clock had wound down to two minutes now, and Cooper couldn’t take her eyes off the screen. “What do you want?”

  “What I want, Detective, is for you to redeem yourself.” The killer jumped off the table and circled the room. “You’ve become lost on your journey to me, and I want to help you return to the person you were before. Saving the second partner to betray you, letting his child grow up with a father instead of without one like you, letting him live instead of killing the man who murdered your sister. What better way to cleanse yourself of all of the blood you’ve spilled?” The killer had moved behind her now, and Cooper felt his hot breath on the back of her neck. “But of course, you could finally make that final move into the shadows with me.” He reached for the revolver in her hand and lifted it to his chin, placing her finger on the trigger. “Either way, I win.”

  Cooper stared into the crazed, beady eyes that had haunted her ever since their meeting in the cabin. There was nothing she wanted more than to kill him, and she felt her finger tremble over the trigger. All she had to do was squeeze. She could avenge Beth, protect the girls. It was for them. She raised the revolver and pressed it against the killer’s forehead, his expression stoic. The gun trembled with her arm, and the curved metal of the trigger grew hot against her skin from the prolonged pause. It’s for Beth. For the girls. She repeated the mantra, trying to drown out Katie’s face and the unborn child in her womb. He killed my sister. It’s for her. For her. For her.

  The anger boiled over and Cooper screamed, her face reddening. And then breathless, her body trembling, she lowered the revolver and walked backward until she hit the wall. No. It’s for me. She shifted her gaze to the clock that had dwindled to ninety seconds. “Hart lives and you turn yourself in?”

  “Right after I take one more life.” The killer smiled, and she knew what life he meant.

  “What do you want?”

  The killer laughed. “To know more about you!” He hopped back up on the table, resting his arm on top of the television’s screen. “I’ll need something to fill in the last few pages, and I’d like for it to be authentic.” The clock dipped below sixty seconds, and he leaned forward, his eyes wide with curiosity.

  “Why did you join the police force?”

  Cooper watched Hart struggle in his cage, the clock ticking lower. “Because I wanted to find my father. And when I found out he was dead, I moved into homicide to make sure there wouldn’t be more children that would become fatherless.”

  The timer jumped up sixty seconds, and the killer continued. “How did it make you feel when you found out that your father was dead?”

  Cooper clinched her fists. “Angry. I’d wanted the pleasure of doing it myself.”

  The killer laughed, tacking on more time for Hart’s airflow. “After the miscarriage, how did you feel?”

  Cooper’s eyes grew glassy and red. “I wanted to die.” Subconsciously she grabbed her wrists. “It was Beth who found me in the bathroom with the razor blades. I just wanted to be with her.”

  “Her?” The killer asked, smiling, and adding more time to Hart’s life. “So it was a girl. And what were you going to name her?”

  Cooper trembled, tears streaming unabashedly down her face. The ugly pain of grief was etched in the downturned frown and lines of her face. “Emily.” She choked out a cry. “I was going to name her Emily.” She collapsed to her knees, burying her face in her hands. She could still feel the warmth from the stillborn in her hands. In all her life she’d never felt more alone, until now.

  The killer paused until the clock wound below thirty seconds. “Now, what happens at the end of our story?”

  Cooper lifted her tear-soaked face, her gaze shifting from Hart on the screen to the killer’s beady eyes. Hate and rage burned the grief from her mind, and she pushed herself off the floor. The clock ticked below ten seconds, and Cooper felt her mind swirl between panic and frustration. She wanted him dead, she wanted to watch him suffer, but if she got what she wanted, then Hart’s wife and his unborn daughter would have the same life that she’d had growing up. And that deep hurt could turn that young girl into Cooper, and she wasn’t going to let something so innocent wind up like her. “I die.”

  The clock stopped at three seconds, and Cooper watched Hart breathe in a gulp of air as he coughed and hacked on all fours. Cooper gripped the edge of the table for support, and when she turned from the television to face the killer, he had her revolver in hand.

  “A noble end, Detective.” All of the laughter and smiles the killer had shown before disappeared as he took a step forward. “But I have to say it’s bittersweet. It’s the ending I wanted, but I hate that our story together is over.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a red crayon, pinching it between his fingers and dangling it in the air between them. “Take it.”

  Cooper reached for the crayon slowly and was soon handed a piece of paper. The killer gestured over to the table, and Cooper walked over and set both of them down. “I’ve already given you the ending. What more do you want?”

  “Fifty-two Bellevue Street,” the killer said. “The officers will find Hart there, alive and well. The air supply in his box is unrestricted now.”

  Cooper did as she was told, carving the address onto the paper. When she was done, she looked back at the killer, the revolver still aimed at her stomach. Sirens echoed above, and she heard the slam of car doors.

  The killer looked up to the ceiling. “Right on time.” When he returned his gaze to Cooper, he smiled, shaking his head. “For all of the failures in your past, my capture will redeem your legacy. I’ll tell them everything. How I used you. How I orchestrated all of this. The killing of Captain Farnes. All of it. I have it written down. Proof. You should find some peace in that.”

  Cooper looked back to the television screen, where Hart had returned to pounding the Plexiglas, his breath fogging the transparent walls as he screamed until his face turned red. She knew he’d betrayed her, even broken the law trying to h
elp Farnes, but she wasn’t doing this for him. Hell, she wasn’t even doing it for herself. It was for his child, and the innocence of youth.

  “I’ve never had that.”

  The killer furrowed his brow in confusion. “Had what?”

  “Peace.” Cooper stiffened and lifted her chin. “I assume you’ll have me bleed out?”

  The killer nodded. “It will be your last moment of suffering.” He stepped closer, and Cooper heard the footsteps and shouts of the officers upstairs, but she kept her eyes locked on the killer until she felt the tip of the revolver against her stomach. “Goodbye, Detective.”

  Three gunshots rang out, but Cooper only felt the first. The second and third were like throwing ice on frostbitten skin. She collapsed to the floor, clutching her stomach. She felt cold and warm all at once, and then she tasted the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. Her breaths grew short and she felt her heart beat wildly in her chest, her mind swirling in pain and exhaustion.

  But amid the chaos of death, she saw that same picture in her head that the killer had described in her father’s story. She was in the park with Beth, and the two were on the swings. She felt the warm sun on her face and heard the high-pitched giggle that was her sister’s laugh. She felt the swing’s old rusted chains on her palms, and she saw her mother on the park bench, smiling, holding the hand of a man with a face that belonged to Henry Miller. That memory wasn’t something the killer had made up. It was real, and it was the only time in her life that she’d had a family. A whole family.

  She tilted her head to the side, no longer able to feel the floor beneath her. Her eyes caught the sight of the officers descending the stairs, screaming something, though she couldn’t hear them. The killer stepped into her line of sight, placing his hands on his head and dropping to his knees. She closed her eyes, hoping she’d get back to the swings with Beth soon.

  Chapter 13

  Janet Kimmings adjusted her shirt collar and checked her hair in the mirror one last time. She exhaled a short breath and closed her eyes, clutching the counter’s edge. The door to her dressing room opened, and a PA with a headset around his neck popped inside. “You’re on in sixty.”

  “Thanks.” Kimmings waited for the door to be shut and then nodded her head, talking to herself. “You can do this. It’s just another report.” She stepped out of the dressing room, her heels clacking against the black production floor, and eyed the anchor desk, where the two evening news reporters were already stationed.

  “You all right, Janet?” Beverly asked, checking through her notes.

  “Yeah,” Kimmings answered, letting one of the PAs check the mic on her lapel. Her stomach was a bundle of nerves as she watched the showrunner count down to zero and the Channel Four News intro appear on the screen, after which the camera was on Beverly.

  “Good evening,” Beverly said. “Tonight we have a special news report on the Baltimore Scribe, who has now been identified as Edward Calburry. Calburry has confessed to nearly three hundred murders over the past thirty years, which makes him the deadliest serial killer of all time. His most recent victims brought him into the national spotlight, which called in the resources of the FBI and the Maryland State Police, as well as local city and county officers. And while Calburry’s trial will surely be a quick and tumultuous affair, as he has already confessed to all of those murders and provided detailed accounts through journals, or what he described as ‘novels,’ tonight’s story is on the opposite side of the law.” Beverly pivoted to another camera, and Kimmings tensed. “Veteran homicide detective Adila Cooper was thrust into the national spotlight when Calburry kidnapped her sister, Beth Hamilton, a former Baltimore native who lived in San Francisco with her husband and two children, who died in surgery due to complications from a gunshot wound she received from Calburry just moments before rescue. For more on that story, we now bring in Janet Kimmings. Janet, what can you tell us about Detective Cooper?”

  The lights were hot at the desk, but Kimmings kept her composure. “Well, we all knew Cooper’s name from a few years back when she testified against her partner, who was arrested under corruption and racketeering charges. Detective Cooper also accused then-Maryland Governor Quentin Farnes, along with his brother, Baltimore Police Captain Jonathan Farnes, of being at the helm of a number of gambling, drug-dealing, and money-laundering operations throughout the city.”

  The camera flipped back to Beverly. “That’s right. In addition to catching Edward Calburry, Detective Cooper’s investigation also brought a federal case against Quentin Farnes, which the FBI is handling right now.”

  Kimmings nodded. “I actually had a chance to sit down with Detective Cooper in the heat of her investigation when she was falsely charged with the murder of Captain Jonathan Farnes.”

  “Which is something I think we’re all eager to watch. Let’s have a look.”

  The lights dimmed slightly, and Cooper’s face appeared on the screen. She sat in a chair, her hair disheveled and her face distorted with fatigue. Kimmings remained off camera, asking questions. “Can you state your name for the record?”

  Cooper cleared her throat and crossed her arms. “Adila Cooper.”

  “Thank you. So let’s start with why you wanted to meet with me.”

  Cooper stared at Kimmings, who was just out of frame. “Because people need to hear the truth.”

  “And what truth is that? That you’re innocent?”

  The camera zoomed in on Cooper’s face, her eyes so focused you’d never guess that she hadn’t slept in days. “No, I’m not innocent. I kidnapped Captain Farnes. I beat him. But I didn’t murder him. That was the serial killer. He’s played me. He’s played all of us.”

  “So, you’re denying the allegations of the death of both Captain Farnes and the detective you shot outside the bar that acted as one of Quentin Farnes’s money laundering locations?”

  Cooper remained stoic and paused before answering. “No. I killed Detective Hall. I am guilty on that charge. I could argue self-defense, but…” She trailed off and waved her hand in the air absentmindedly. “I don’t know how this is all going to play out for me in the end. I mean...” She scrunched her face as if she were searching for answers to questions that hadn’t been asked. “That’s why I called you.”

  “What did you want to say, Adila?” Kimmings asked. “What do you want us to know?”

  Cooper straightened out in her chair, lifting her chin. “With over twenty years on the police force I’ve seen all kinds of murders and suspects. Within people is a gruesome violence that can surface at any moment. Luckily, most people never expose that evil. And even when they do it’s quick, a moment of passion and hate.” She bit her lower lip and shook her head. “But what I’ve seen with this killer, what he’s been able to do has been beyond passion. Beyond hate. Beyond whatever primal sense of evil that dwells within people. He is the evolution of evil. Calculated. Intelligent. Motivated.” She let out a sigh and rubbed her forehead until it shone a bright red. “Up until now I’ve been able to stop killers within the laws of the land. But I can’t do that with him. He’s beyond laws, beyond justice. And everything I’ve done, and will do, to stop him was my choice. The killer may have picked me for something, but I chose to chase him.” She nodded, her eyes focused somewhere off camera. “That’s what I want people to know. I chose to do it my way. All the way to the end.”

  “Detective,” Kimmings said, “what about the rest of your family? What will they think when they see this?”

  Cooper paused. “I hope they understand. It may take some time for them to get there, but I hope they will see why I had to do all of this. I want them to have peace.” The soft hum of the microphone over the audio filled the silent gaps between Cooper’s stretches of silence. “I don’t want them to hurt anymore, I don’t want them to wonder whether or not the man who killed their mother and wife is still out there. That kind of fear can cripple a person. And I won’t let that happen to them. Ever.”

  “But n
ow you’re a wanted criminal, wanted for murder. Just like the man you’re chasing. Your former peers are hunting you. Your legacy as a detective has been tarnished.”

  The corner of Cooper’s mouth twitched, almost as if she were going to smile, but stopped. “My legacy was always tarnished. There is less than a handful of people in the department who know me, the real me, and those people don’t need any convincing about what I’ve done. Everyone else can go to hell.”

  The screen went blank and the studio lights turned back on, the camera panning to a wide shot of both Kimmings and Beverly, who spoke first. “I’m sure it must have been a powerful moment for you to be speaking with her at that time.”

  “I’d met Detective Cooper before, a few days prior to that taping. Out of all the officers I’ve ever interviewed, or even met really”—Kimmings pointed off screen as if Cooper was there—“she was the badge. The law. And the law is balance. And despite what happened, what she did, she returned a balance to our city that it hasn’t seen in decades.”

  “But she broke the law to do it. Doesn’t that negate the line she walked for so long?” Janet asked.

  “What Calburry had done, the number of lives he claimed, and the way he claimed them, it transcended anything we’ve known or seen before.” Kimmings shook her head. “Detective Cooper was right. The law couldn’t fight that. So she went beyond the law. She did what needed to be done.”

  “Well, one thing is for certain: that the hundreds of families on whom the killer inflicted pain and harm can now find peace knowing their loved ones’ murderer will soon be behind bars. And wherever you land on the debate, I think we can all agree everyone is a little bit safer now that the Baltimore Scribe is off the streets. Janet, thanks for stopping by.”

  “Thank you.” The program cut to commercial, and Kimmings walked off set. A few of the workers slapped her on the back in congratulations, followed by a slow clap. “Thanks, everyone.” She disappeared back into her dressing room and changed. She had a funeral to attend.