Destiny's Wrath (Destiny Series - Book 3)

by Straight, Nancy

  “The police don’t know nothin’ about me; they ain’t comin’ here.”

  Just then the door bell rang. Jimmy looked out the window and down onto the curb in front of his house. There was a sedan he didn’t recognize parked squarely in front of his house. The door bell chimed again. Jimmy froze, holding his breath as if this might make the person go away. The door bell rang a third time.

  “You idiot, go answer the door! Find out what they want. Do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself.”

  Jimmy made his way down the steps and to the front door just as the man was climbing into his sedan. Jimmy called, “Can I help you?”

  “You Jimmy Jacobs, boy?” The man bellowed back.

  “Yessir.”

  “Jimmy, I’m Detective Ross. You weren’t in school today, is that right?”

  “No, Sir. I was home sick.”

  “Your mother didn’t call the school. Is there any reason for that?”

  “The school calls the poe-lease when you don’t go to school?” Jimmy’s eyes were wide.

  “Two of your classmates were murdered yesterday. We were checking all absences to make sure there weren’t any students missing. So, is there any reason your mother didn’t call the school this morning?”

  “The phone…it ain’t working.”

  “It was working an hour ago when I called.” The detective cocked his head to the right, as if second guessing himself.

  “I don’t know why she didn’t call. I was in bed with a headache, felt like a meat cleaver give me.”

  “Jimmy, I’d like to phone your mother.”

  “It don’t work, Sir.”

  Detective Ross eyed Jimmy carefully. He wondered if he had dialed the wrong number earlier. There were seven seniors absent today, four’s whereabouts were confirmed quickly over the phone. The coroner knew exactly where Miles and Noah were, which just left Jimmy. He was a poor example of public education, but that wasn’t what bothered the detective. Why hadn’t he asked which two classmates were murdered?

  Jimmy’s eyes wouldn’t meet the detective’s. “When will your mother be home?”

  “I dunno, maybe an hour.”

  “You say you don’t have any way to reach her?” Jimmy shook his head that he didn’t.

  “Did you know the boys who were murdered?”

  “I saw on the news that it was Miss Abbey’s house. Was it Noah?”

  “Yes, it was Noah and Miles. Did you know them?”

  “Yeah, they was good friends. We played basketball sometimes.”

  “When was the last time you saw them?”

  Jimmy looked scared. A voice in Jimmy’s head told him, “You saw them at school yesterday. Tell him you’re sick, and you need to lie down.”

  “I saw them at school yesterday. Hey, I’m still sick. Can I go back in now?”

  “Sure, Jimmy, could you give me your mother’s work number?” Detective Ross had exceptional instincts. Something about this kid was off. He could see the sweat droplets forming on the kid’s brow, the way the kid’s eyes wouldn’t make contact with his, the high pitch in his voice.

  “She ain’t supposed to get calls at work. I’ll tell her you want her to call when she gets home.”

  Jimmy began closing the door. Detective Ross put his shoe to the door as a stopper. “I think her boss will understand; can you get me that number, son?”

  Detective Ross could see the guilt on Jimmy’s face. Detective Ross didn’t miss the fact that Jimmy knew exactly who the victims were, and he neither asked him for his confirmation or how they were murdered. This was to have been a routine call. Just covering the bases, he’d told himself before he arrived. He just wanted to make sure there weren’t any more dead students. Detective Ross had been one of the first on the gruesome scene. Mrs. Camden’s home was a slaughterhouse, bodies strewn throughout: slit throats, stabs to the hearts and lungs - blood everywhere.

  Jimmy finally nodded his head, turning from the door to walk back into the house. Detective Ross slid the inside door open further with his foot to watch Jimmy, making sure he didn’t try to run out the back door. He knew this kid was involved; he had to keep him talking.

  Jimmy came back to the door with a number written on a slip of paper and handed it to Detective Ross. “Thanks, Jimmy. So, any idea why someone might want to hurt your friends?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “What do you think happened to them?”

  “Probably some escaped convict or mental patient. I saw on the news they was all knifed.”

  “You know that was my first inclination, too, but we checked all the mental hospitals and the prisons. No one has escaped or been released that could have done this. What else could have happened to them?”

  “Maybe it was a robber, maybe lookin’ for gold or somethin’.”

  “You know, that is a possibility. Do you know where Mrs. Camden kept any of her valuables? Just so I could check and see if they are still there.”

  Jimmy shook his head that he didn’t know. Samael’s voice screamed in his head, “Shut up you half-wit. He already suspects you. The more you talk, the closer you get to jail. Excuse yourself and shut the door.”

  Detective Ross’ foot didn’t budge. Jimmy pleaded, “Sir, I hafta’ go back to bed. I’m real sick. I’ll tell Mom you want her to call you.”

  “Just a second, Jimmy.” He knew he couldn’t let the kid go back into the house. “So, you don’t know where her valuables might be? Did she keep any guns in the house?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt your friends or Mrs. Camden?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “You know, if there is something you want to tell me, anything you can think of that might help, I’ll listen.”

  Samael’s voice echoed in Jimmy’s head, “Invite him into the house. Tell him you want to sit down and talk. Do it now.”

  Jimmy didn’t understand the change in Samael. He had just told Jimmy to get the detective away. He had told him to stop talking. Now he wanted the detective to come in. He wished he understood Samael better.

  Chapter 8

  Ryan Bush had been the county coroner for three years and was in the parking lot waiting for the police to finish their pictures. He looked at his watch: already 3 p.m. It was his night to pick up the kids from karate. “Going to be much longer, Dennis?”

  Sergeant Dennis Thornton was a patrol officer, kneeling down beside one of the bodies, “No, we’re almost finished. How long until the autopsies are done?”

  Ryan wiped his brow, “Normally we do first come, first served. But with nine bodies all coming in one on top of the other, tell me whose you want done first, and I’ll get started first thing in the morning.”

  “The morning? The state boys are going to be all over this. Can’t you get started tonight?”

  Ryan shook his head, “I can’t tonight. I’ll get these last two taken in and processed, but we might need to call in support from the state crime lab.”

  Dennis leaned his head back to stretch, frustrated that the city could require him to work twenty-four hours solid, but the county employees got to keep bankers’ hours. As he stretched, he noticed a weathered security camera on the top of a pole, aimed right in on his position. “Go ahead and bag them, Ryan. I’m going to run inside for a minute.”

  There was a dollar store just on the other side of the parking lot. He loped over to it and found a clerk just inside the door. “The camera out in the parking lot,” pointing over his shoulder through the window, “who monitors it?”

  “It’s on a remote backup system. We don’t have the tapes here.”

  “How could I view the recording for the last twenty four hours?”

  The clerk had been watching the police work in the far corner of the parking lot for over an hour. “Let me call the owner. I don’t know how it works, but I think it’s on a web site or something.”

  Twenty minutes later Sergeant Thornton had been provi
ded a web link, a username and password, and sure enough, forty-eight hours of grainy footage was available. He scrolled through in ten minute bursts until the time stamp showed 9:23 p.m. Dennis paused the image on a grainy, black and white silhouette of the perpetrator. “Gotcha.”

  Dennis called the service provider, explained that the video was needed for a murder investigation, got the release from the owner to use it, and was feeling pretty good about this break in the case. The image wasn’t clear enough for facial recognition, but was significantly more detailed than an artist’s sketch would be from an eye witness. He knew the geeks at the lab could sharpen the image. Dennis picked up his phone and dialed Detective Ross. He was so excited he could hardly contain himself.

  The voice that answered the phone barked, “Ross.”

  “Hey, Bert, we caught a break. There’s a security camera in the parking lot where the last two bodies were found. We got the whole thing on video.”

  Silence echoed on the line. Dennis asked, “Bert, are you there?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Bert, it’s Dennis. We got the whole thing on video.” Dennis and Bert had been in the same class at the police academy; they’d known each other for years. Bert must be pretty frazzled, he thought. Multiple murders never happened around here. Shit, single murders almost never happened around here.

  When Bert didn’t respond, Dennis held his phone out to see if his call had been dropped. They were still connected. “Bert, are you there?”

  A cool voice answered, “Yes, Dennis, I’m here. I am finishing up my interview of Jimmy Jacobs. I’ll have to call you back.” The phone went dead.

  Dennis’s stomach knotted. There had to be more than one Jimmy Jacobs in town. He watched as the coroner’s vehicle pulled out of the parking lot. Dennis thought of the grainy image, “No frickin’ way,” he told himself.

  A text message was waiting on his phone: “Auto Notify: 1600 HQ briefing.” Dennis looked at his watch, “Shit,” he muttered to himself. Sergeant Thornton got in his car. If he hit every light green he would only be five minutes late.

  Dennis arrived in the packed room, standing room only. The briefing was already underway by the chief.

  “. . . Victim two, is a fifteen year old female, named Jessie Farver. Victim three, seventeen year old male, named Noah Farver. Victim four . . .” The briefing went on in graphic detail as to how each victim had been killed in the Camden home, likely scenarios for the timing of each kill, DNA evidence that was under evaluation. A social worker had stopped by and made the awful discovery. A phone call had been placed to the local Sherriff’s office yesterday afternoon, but not on the emergency line. Dennis had been one of the first on the scene this morning. The chief looked at Dennis, “Sergeant Thornton, nice of you to join us. Do you have anything to share regarding the second crime scene?”

  “Yes, Sir, the murder in the parking lot occurred at 9:23 p.m. last night. The perpetrator was a white male, no accomplices. He used a large knife to attack victim 1, named Kyle Jenkins first, then victim 2 named Terrell Stevenson immediately after. An eye witness is known to have seen the perpetrator but has not yet been identified.”

  This description was news to everyone in the room, as Dennis hadn’t had a chance to even type up his notes. The chief looked at him in disbelief, “9:23 p.m.?”

  “Yes, chief, I was late because I just reviewed video of the murders. We have a graphic of the perpetrator, but I didn’t have a chance to route the video to the crime lab for enhancement or to validate the time stamp. We should have a photo we can go with as soon as I can get with the lab to have them print the still image.”

  “What the hell are you waiting for? Go!”

  Dennis ran out of the room. As he did, he bumped into Detective Ross just walking through the door. Dennis smiled at his friend. Bert did not return the silent greeting.

  *****

  In five minutes time, Dennis was re-entering the room to the briefing with hard copies of the photograph from the video. The pain in the pit of his stomach had migrated to a rock as he stared down at the enhanced photo in his hand.

  Bert was defending himself, “…No, I didn’t Mirandize him. He wasn’t even a suspect.”

  The chief sighed in frustration, “Was a parent or guardian in the room?”

  Bert was irritated, “As I said, he was not a suspect. I was simply trying to ascertain whether Jimmy Jacobs knew the victims. He invited me into his home and gave me a blow-by-blow, or rather a slice-by-slice account of the murders.”

  The chief looked down at the podium, whispers erupting in the room. Dennis, while still clenching the photo in his hand, leaned over to the officer on his right and whispered, “What the hell is going on?”

  Bob Bishop mumbled, “Bert was asking some kid who skipped school if he knew the victims and the kid confessed everything. All of ‘em. The seven people in the Camden house and the two in the parking lot. Said he was going to build a bomb to take out the school.”

  Dennis looked at the pile of papers in his hands, the grainy face staring back at him had been enhanced by the technician before printing the copies. Thinking to himself, “Frickin’ great, there aren’t two Jimmy Jacobs in this town.”

  The chief noticed Dennis’ reappearance in the room, “Sergeant Thornton, you said you had a photo of the perpetrator? Bring it up.”

  Dennis walked to the front of the room. Bert stood up and followed him to the chief’s podium. Bert was thrilled when he looked at the stack of photos, “That’s him! That’s Jimmy Jacobs. He’s in the holding cell right now, waiting for his mom to arrive.”

  The chief grabbed a lungful of air, announcing to the room full of police, “Okay folks, let’s regroup in two hours. We may not need the whole task force after all.” The chief looked at Dennis and Bert, “You two, don’t go anywhere.”

  In the space of two hours, Jimmy’s mother had arrived, Jimmy had repeated his story between sobs, signed a statement, and would be charged as an adult for nine counts of murder. It was the fastest open and shut case any one of them had ever known. Dennis knew without the confession they would have pieced the information together enough to overcome reasonable doubt. The city attorney, the police, the crime labs, and everyone else involved had done everything by the book. This morning they had all been nauseated by the scene. As the day progressed, the violence seemed to grow with every body they uncovered. This morning Dennis believed this would be the investigation that finally gave him the experience he needed to make detective. He was pleased now that this wasn’t the case. He didn’t want for this one to make his career. Although an asset to the investigation – he was not the one who closed the case.

  Dennis made his way to Bert’s desk, relieved that a full-blown panic by the residents of Greenville had been avoided. “Great work, Bert, you didn’t even have to beat it out of him.”

  Bert looked up from his desk, recognition of his friend was absent, “Yes, that wasn’t necessary this time.” He looked back at his paperwork.

  Dennis was briefly put off by his friend’s icy response. Bert was absent even an ounce of humor. Dennis stammered, “You want to go get a bite or something?”

  Bert looked up again, this time with a more friendly response, “I’ll have to pass. The chief wants this report turned in before I go tonight. He was none too thrilled that the kid just confessed when he wasn’t being interrogated. Maybe another night?”

  Dennis thought to himself, “Yeah, that’s the reason Bert made detective and I didn’t. I’d better finish my report, too.”

  Chapter 9

  Lauren

  I sat frozen, “What does the paper say? Where did it happen?”

  “Here,” Max handed me the newspaper, “You read it.”

  The headline read: “Teen snaps and kills nine people.”

  Wednesday, Jimmy Jacobs, a senior in Greenville, went on a killing spree. He murdered two other high school seniors and a sophomore after school. In the same location two adults an
d two young children were also stabbed to death. In a second location two others were also fatally stabbed. All victims’ names are being withheld pending notification of next-of-kin.

  The police have obtained a confession from Jacobs for these vicious murders. Reports have surfaced that Jacobs was a home-grown terrorist and speculation is that he murdered all nine people to keep his alleged bombing plot under wraps.

  Jacobs’ attorney was not available for comment . . .”

  The article provided graphic detail of the incident. I finished reading the article and felt sick to my stomach. “Should we call Dakota?”

  Max didn’t look at me. Staring off into the distance, he murmured, “I’m sure she already knows.”

  “What should we do?”

  Max shook his head, “There’s not much we can do. The kid made a choice.”

  I leaned heavily into the couch, hoping to disappear into it. I hadn’t seen Renny since the day Dakota brought the kid to our house. Renny had been a make shift mentor and friend, right up until the moment that she and the Council showed up, prepared to murder Max.

  A demon, Samael, had taken up residence in Max. Max seemed to be able to control Samael, to keep him from taking over. At the time, I worried that one day Max might not be able to control Samael; I know Max worried about the same thing. Renny and her Council were prepared to take Max’s life that day in an effort to eradicate Samael. I know I would have been collateral damage. Whether they had laid a hand on me or not, the loss of Max would have destroyed me.

  Max is the only man I’ve ever loved, the only one ever to infiltrate my dreams, the one whose touch makes my toes curl. The thought of losing him was unbearable; it still is. I would have done anything that day, including opening fire on the Council, whether or not Renny was my friend. Luckily, it didn’t come to that.

  It’s hard to describe the relationship between the Council and the Cabinet. Both are made up of people, all mortals, but each has the ability to influence emotions in the people they choose to affect. The Council is made up of people who influence “positive” emotions; the Cabinet is made up of people who influence “negative” emotions in people. I’m sure there is a more complex description than that, but my simple explanation is accurate. Dakota is on the Cabinet and is able to insert “doubt” in a person’s thoughts. She once told me this was her way of helping people make good choices. Renny is on the Council and she influences “confidence,” so she, too, uses her influence to steer people to better choices. I’m not convinced either group is necessarily bad or good; the only thing I do know is the two people who are opposite one another cannot stand to be physically near each other.