(2005) 'Whispers In the Wind'

by Michael A Diaz

  ‘WHISPERS IN THE WIND’

  A Novel

  Michael A. Diaz

  iUniverse, Inc.

  New York Lincoln Shanghai

  ‘Whispers In the Wind’

  A Novel

  Copyright © 2005 by Michael A. Diaz

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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  ISBN: 0-595-34237-X

  ISBN: 978-0-5957-9009-8(eBook)

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Foreword

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  This one is for you, the love of my life, With all my love, always. Let the adventure continue till the end of our lives.

  Foul deeds will rise,

  Though all the earth o’erwhelm them,

  To men’s eyes.

  —Hamlet,

  William Shakespeare

  Evil and its many faces is never what you expect

  —Michael Diaz

  Foreword

  Chicago, IL January 13, 1995

  03:45 a.m.

  In the semidarkness of the room, silence reigned. On the soft penumbra of the enclosure, the naked figure kneeling on the carpet floor was but an ephemeral shadow, more a figment of the imagination than real. It remained perfectly still, eyes closed, the only indication of life the constant rising and falling of the chest. The room, large and completely void of any furnishing, was bathed by a single, soft amber bulb in the center of the ceiling, casting it’s light on a small circular surface of the carpet floor below, leaving the rest of the room in dark shadows.

  In that particular circle of light now rested a small, square wooden box, eight inches by eight inches, black and shiny, close now. The top was covered with incredibly beautiful and intricate carvings, designs of the hunt and the chase. The naked figure moved slightly then, and the eyelids fluttered open, coming to rest on the black wooden box. Long, tapered fingers reached for the gold necklace around the neck, a gold key hanging from it. The key was inserted into the small lock and the box was opened, fingers lifting the carved lid. Inside, lying on a bed of black velvet was a diary with a small lock and a gold pen. On top of the diary lay a piece of yellow paper folded neatly in half. The fingers reached for the yellow paper, unfolding it slowly, bringing it up almost to eye level. Upon unfolding the small piece of paper, two names and a date could be seen, written in a beautiful script.

  Officer Claude Dunbar Officer Pete Moore May 13, 1980.

  Hard, deep blue eyes, as cold as the January wind that whispered softly outside the apartment, lingered briefly on the two names, shining with an unholy light. The lips moved then, almost with a trembling motion, reading the names softly, something that had been a constant ritual to the figure sitting completely naked on the carpet for the last fifteen years.

  Yes…fifteen years of torture and changes, incredibly real nightmares that filled the darkness of the night and denied rest to the human being sitting there now. Years of torture and heart rending pain that shattered the soul and the mind, until there was nothing left but a desire for swift, brutal revenge. The blue eyes remained fixed on the names for a long moment, the lips parted slightly, the mind coming to terms with the task ahead.

  A slight grin flickered briefly on the hard planes of the face and then the long, tapered fingers neatly folded the piece of paper again and placed it in the small box, closing it softly again with the lock and pushing the box away. The figure stood up in one single, fluid move, walking swiftly toward the door of the room, exiting and approaching a window. The cold eyes glanced outside, watching the snow falling gently to the ground below, covering the harsh, ugly world in a blanket of white, pristine purity. The wind whispered softly against the windowpane as the figure watched the dark world outside. The head turned swiftly and the eyes glanced at the clock on the wall, noticing the time, and then glancing briefly at the leather bag lying on the carpet floor next to the window and the bundle of clothes resting on a chair. Slowly, the figure moved, starting to dress for the weather outside. Long underwear came first, then a pair of running tights, black in color and then the rest of the running outfit, and finally a pair of running shoes and black leather gloves. The eyes glanced at the clock again. A hand reached for the leather bag and then it was time.

  It was time to go. It was time to…kill.

  CHAPTER 1

  Chicago, IL January 13, 1995

  4:30 A.M.

  The wind whispered softly as big, white snowflakes drifted down to earth, covering the streets, turning the world into a vast landscape of whiteness. In the still of the winter night, among the dark shadows that permeated the neighborhood, a soulless killer waited patiently. It had not always been that way; at one time her heart was pure, with no thoughts of malice running through her mind, until a foul deed was perpetrated against her and the demons came to possess her soul and her mind, living but for one thing; revenge, pure and simple. Revenge that would cleanse her soul and set her free of the haunting ghosts that tormented her in the darkness.

  Besides the murmur of the soft wind whistling among the streets, the neighborhood was quiet, empty of people at this time of the morning. It was bitter cold and the figure that huddled in the doorway shivered, glancing at the deserted street, casting a brief look at the luminous dial of the wristwatch, shaking her head slowly. The shadow in the darkness was dressed in a black running outfit, a Gore-tex jacket and running shoes, with a cap over the hair for warmth, black gloves encasing the hands.

  The killer waited, feeling the intense cold seeping into muscles and bone, forcing herself to remain quiet despite the almost overpowering desire to move after more than an hour of standing in the shadows and the extreme cold. Movement was one thing that could derail her plan. People were nosy and if someone couldn’t sleep or happened to be looking out a window, then movement could compromise her. She knew she had arrived early, even after jogging almost half a mile to this place. She had been lucky then, able to get to her chosen place without encountering a soul on the street, which was what she was expecting due to the snow and the cold and the late hour. The killer’s car, a silver SUV, was parked in an empty lot, close to the freeway, less than a mile from where she waited in the dark recess of the doorway. In that
way curious glances could be avoided or if by chance a nosy person in the vicinity were about, there would be no curiosity about a strange SUV parked in the neighborhood. The house where she was hiding now was deserted at the moment, just like the streets, but soon enough the neighborhood would wake up with commuters heading for the city to work and the opportunity the killer had sought to rid the world of one major asshole would be lost. The killer had spent hours checking the layout of the land, following her prey, learning the habits of the man that would die today by her hand. The figure shivered again, something akin to pleasure imparting warmth to the cold, sluggish blood as the mind thought about the man that soon would pay for the pain and rage that had suffused her life for the last fifteen years. She had studied the man’s habits very carefully for the past week, knowing that he would be at home around five in the morning most days. He would park the car outside the garage, facing the street for easy access in case of an emergency. He would exit the car, walking the few steps to his back yard gate, entering the house from the rear in order not to wake up his still sleeping wife. The house where the killer stood was less than five meters away and the driveways were about thirty feet long. There was another car, now almost completely covered with snow, in the driveway of the intended prey, parked in front of the garage.

  She had chosen a perfect position to wait. From the doorway, she would be able to see her prey, watching his movements and then be able to approach him without him noticing anything out of the ordinary, the wind and the falling snow masking any noise, giving the killer the time needed.

  ‘It will not take long’, she told herself, ‘just a few seconds to get behind him while he is busy and unconcerned about his surroundings’. Then a flicker of her hand would put an end to his miserable life. At that time of the morning, she knew, the man’s reflexes would be dull, thinking about warmth and rest, not about something happening to him this close to home. He was one arrogant bastard and he probably would think that, being a cop, nobody would dare mess with him.

  A small noise to her left distracted the killer’s attention, a blue eyed stare glancing at the nearest house, probably ten yards away. On her previous visits down the street, she had taken notice of the lamppost near the house of her intended prey. Just a few hours ago, she had managed to blow out the lamp with the help of a pellet gun, and then proceeded to park her vehicle and jog to this spot. A fleeting shadow that was a black cat dashed across the street, the black pelt contrasting sharply with the white snow on the ground. For a long moment, the cat stopped in the middle of the street, the head twisting, feral, glinting eyes looking in the direction where the killer waited, and then passing as silently as the black shadows, the animal moved, swiftly disappearing from sight. Silence returned and she glanced at the sky above, overcast now, the black clouds covering the moon and the stars, the snow falling gently as it had for most of the night. It would stay dark for another hour or more because of the weather, giving her the time needed to finish what she considered her ‘mission’ on this particular night. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, plumes of smoke drifting from her full, sensuous mouth as she exhaled the warm air. She was nervous, the mere thought of killing a police officer filling her with a sense of incredible power, adrenalin making her sharp, alive.

  The noise of a car crunching the snow and the glare of headlights made her swivel her head in the direction of the noise and the dark blue eyes glinted with pleasure at the sight approaching down the street. Her stomach jumped as a sudden surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins and she felt the quickening of her young heart hammering against her chest. Her long, tapered fingers, encased in the black gloves, tightened their grip on the handle of the weapon by her side. She took a deep sigh as her heart started beating painfully against her ribs and her breath became shallow with the emotions running through her. ‘This is it’, she told herself fiercely, a diabolical grin flickering briefly on the beautiful face, ‘the moment I have waited for fifteen long years’.

  Dark blue eyes closed to slits, hard and cold as the wind that whispered softly among the streets. Her prey was coming and soon he would pay with his life.

  CHAPTER 2

  January 13, 1995 Chicago, IL

  5:15 am

  Detective Sgt. Claude Dunbar ran his hand over his face, feeling the weariness seeping slowly into his tired body, the stubble of black beard rough to the touch. Last night at the station had been a hell of a night and he had spent most of it chasing one lead after another, working a double murder case with his partner. He was almost late coming home and he was hungry and cold, craving a hot cup of coffee after twelve long hours of running from one place to the next, canvassing the neighbors for witnesses to the double murder, talking to a bunch of sorry assholes who didn’t want to be bothered by the police. A slight grin flickered on the rugged face as he thought about the old days. ‘Not too long ago, he said to himself, ‘I could just slap the hell out of one of those bastards and get the information I needed’. Times have changed, he thought sourly, knowing that now a complaint of police brutality would bring Internal Affairs breathing down his neck. ‘Bunch of bleeding heart liberals’, he told himself, shaking his head. He couldn’t sympathize with cops that went after their own. That was not the way things were supposed to happen when you were a cop, they were suppose to take care of each other, not rat on their own or go after them for petty shit that happened in the streets while doing their work. He shook his head again, thinking about the murders last night, knowing that it would be a long haul to solve the damn thing without help from the neighbors or the family members. Yeah…it was going to be a lot of work to solve it, he thought wearily, making a sour face when he contemplated the long days and hours he was going to spent chasing leads and people around.

  It was always like that now, he thought grimly. Working the murders was slow, plodding work to solve the case, unless lady luck was around and a witness could be found that really knew something and was willing to share the information with the police. He cracked the driver’s window, letting the foul smoke from his cigar drift out slowly. He would be home in a few minutes now, he thought, his mood improving with the realization that in just a few short weeks he would retire from the damned police department after almost thirty years of pounding the streets, the last ten as a detective working violent crimes in Zone Five. He shook his head as his eyes took in the eerie landscapes that were streets and homes, covered with snow at this time of the morning. He actually enjoyed working nights, he thought briefly, away from the damn probing eyes of bosses and supervisors. But it was getting old now, he said to himself, feeling tired and used after the long night just passed. The work was not what it used to be in the old days anymore, he thought briefly again, a grin flickering on his face momentarily, his mind thinking about the old days of real police work. No, it sure as hell wasn’t what it used to be, not by a long shot.

  He glanced at his watch while he drove the last block to his house, thinking that this morning he could only snatch a couple of hours of sleep and then he had to head back to the department to continue the investigation on the murders. He didn’t want to let them get cold, knowing well that forty eight hours after a murder, it was hard to solve the damn thing.

  He took a drag from the cigar, feeling the harshness of the smoke in his throat, knowing that he had been smoking too many of the damn things lately. His wife had been after him for years to quit and to lose weight, but he had always managed to sidestep the issue on both counts. ‘Hell, I’ve been smoking cigars since I was twelve years old, he thought dourly, ‘and eating like a pig for the last forty’. He patted his huge belly fondly, the result of too much eating and too many beers and a grin flickered momentarily on his tired face. He would go on a diet as soon as he retired to sunny Florida, he thought briefly, maneuvering the car into his driveway in reverse, next to his wife’s Ford SUV, shifting to park, a part of his mind listening to the soft humming of the engine,
idly cursing his wife for leaving her damn car outside the garage. He glanced at the snow, accumulated several inches deep on the driveway and he cursed softly again, knowing that soon he would have to shovel the crap and also clean her car. He closed his eyes for a second, relaxing now, listening to the radio traffic, hating the moment when he would have to exit the warm vehicle to go into the house. It was cold out there and he hated cold weather with a passion, something that always struck him as funny considering he had lived in Chicago all his life, where it was always cold and windy even at the best of times.

  He turned the engine off, pushing the door open, grunting with the effort of getting his huge frame out of the car, wrapping his overcoat tightly around him. He was 6’2” and almost three hundred pounds and he cursed under his breath, his hand holding his hat, his breathing labored in just the few seconds that took him to get out of the car completely. “Damn…”, he said softly, thinking that he was sixty one years old and out of shape completely, something that he was going to have to remedy soon.

  He closed the door, his eyes glancing at the dark shadows surreptitiously, a habit of thirty years of police work, his eyes taking in the deserted streets of the neighborhood in one quick, swift look that missed nothing. The streets were deserted, not a light shining anywhere and nothing moving. He glanced down the street, noticing the light on the lamp pole closest to his house was out, throwing his driveway into shadow. He made a mental note to call the power company so they could replace it, glancing down the street at the now quiet houses. For one moment he stood still as his eyes caught motion across the street and he strained his eyes to see what it was. The shadow of a black cat moved swiftly among the piles of snow, stopping momentarily, only to move again, disappearing. Goose bumps ran down his back and he shook his head, wrapping his overcoat around him.