I needed to set the record straight. I could not let my father sit in that room and lie about everything that had happened. I could not be a coward like him.
To tell you the real truth, I am tired. I am tired of chasing something that I will never get. I am just fucking tired, and I do not give a fuck what you pigs do to me now. Do your worst, because it just does not matter to me anymore.
Chapter 24
"This motherfucker has been writing for about five hours. He has already gone through three notebooks, and two pencils," Detective Smithson said as he raised his arms and let them fall to his sides in disbelief. "How much shit could he have to write down?"
"Well, that just depends on what he feels he needs to confess. Maybe he did more than we think he did," Special Agent Robinson replied, slightly agitated with Smithson's impatience.
"I know what he's done. I just figure that he's in there writing a fucking autobiography. Trying to get famous. A whole Goddamn novel about his feelings. If I have to wade through three notebooks filled with bullshit about how it isn't his fault because his Mommy was mean to him, or his Daddy knocked him around, I might puke."
"Uh huh," Robinson said, not really listening.
"Are you even paying attention to me?"
"Uh huh."
Robinson was busy and had no time to listen to the idle complaints of the small town detective. He sat at his desk pouring over the notebook that the officers had found in the getaway van. There was some sick shit written in those pages. Detailed rapes and murders going back more than ten years.
Theodore Shively apparently thought that he had pulled the wool over their eyes by trying to put all of the blame on his son, but he had another thing coming. They had a secret weapon that he knew nothing about. Knowledge.
Dale Griswold was dead. It would have been just as easy for him to try to pin it all on his dead partner, but the sick thing was that he had chosen to rat on his own son. To try and pin everything directly on Tim. So much for family loyalty.
This notebook put no less than fifteen unsolved murders in multiple states to bed. It would be a lie to say that Robinson did not also think about how this case would boost his career and make him a hero. He would be the FBI Special Agent that stepped in to take over the case from these podunk officers and brought it all to a close. He would be the one to bring peace to all of these families. His name would be in the newspapers. He would be on television.
He shook his head, clearing away those thoughts. He felt a bit guilty about being so selfish. The clearing of these cases was for the families and the victims, not for his own selfish quest for fame. Robinson suddenly felt ashamed.
He thought about how this whole drama had unfolded, trying to make sure that everything was pieced together perfectly. Mistakes were certainly not an option here. This case had to be fool proof. The slightest mistake might send one of these sick fucks back out on the street. Robinson could never live with that.
What Timothy had not known was that they had been on to him for quite a while. Robinson hated to admit it, but they had been more than a few steps behind Timothy for more than a few years.
Since the fire at his mother's home, when his body was not discovered in the ashes, they had been searching for him. At first, they searched for him as a possible victim. That quickly turned into a hunt for a murderer when they discovered the condition of his mother's corpse.
Through exhaustive searching and examining of clues left in more than one state, the FBI had finally been able to link Timothy to at least five murders. Hopefully, they would get a concrete confession out of him when they were able to read the book that he was obviously writing in there.
The notebook was a lucky stroke. This book in front of him gave him what he needed to put Theo away as well. After the murder of the old man at the U-store it in Braverton, Ohio, it had all fallen into place. Robinson knew exactly what Timothy was up to.
At that point, they just needed to locate Dale and Theo. The two men had been suspects in several unsolved murders over several years in multiple states. Now finally, they had all of them. One of them was in the morgue, and two of them were no more than thirty feet away from him in separate rooms, telling totally different stories.
Robinson was not necessarily a religious man, but at that time, he really wished that there was in fact a hell. He wished with all of his heart that Dale Griswold was, at this moment, roasting there in unimaginable pain.
The only thing that left a sour taste in his mouth was the way that the trio had actually been caught. It was not due to the breathtaking prowess of the FBI, or even the excellent deductive work of the local PD.
It was the work of a sixteen-year-old boy who just happened to be out fishing at the river the day before. He heard screams in the distance and went to investigate. He witnessed two men standing and watching a younger man sodomizing and brutalizing a young blonde woman. He described the perpetrator as behaving like a wild animal. The assailant was scratching the skin off the back of the young woman as he brutally raped her.
That was a therapy bill that Robinson was glad he did not have to pay.
The young angler had called the police, who in turn notified the FBI. Years of investigation had gotten them nothing but a day late and a dollar short. It had come down to luck, or lack of it on Timothy's part.
Therefore, the real hero in this case was a kid that decided to skip school so he could drink beer and maybe catch some trout.
"Fuck sake, what the hell is he writing in there?" Smithson said again, rolling his head back in his chair like a bored teenager.
"Why don't you go get some lunch or something?" Robinson said through gritted teeth.
"I already ate."
"Go have a cigarette."
"Don't smoke."
Robinson could not handle it anymore. He got to his feet and walked over to the room where Theo Shively was shackled to a steel table. He opened the door and walked in. He had a few questions for the man that the law had been chasing for more than a decade.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the F…B…I."
"How are you doing today, Theo? Do you need something to drink? A soft pillow maybe?" Robinson asked sarcastically as he took a seat across from the older Shively.
"Well, I could use a blow job. Do you think that you could help me out with that? We could turn out the lights. I hear it all feels the same in the dark."
"It's great that you can maintain that quick wit while you wait to get sent to the death chamber. You do know that that is what is going to happen, don't you?" He took the notebook and set it down on the table between them.
Theo's smile faded as he looked at the book.
"What's that?"
"You know exactly what this is."
"I've never seen that book in my life."
"We both know that that is a crock of shit, Theo. Stop being so modest. You know, most authors are proud of their work. You took the time to write all of this down, it must have been important to you. Do you want me to read a little of it to you? Do you want to hear the details again? That way you can relive the terror that you put these women through over and over while you sit in a cell and wait for the state to put you down like a mongrel dog?"
"I think that maybe you forgot to take one of your pills this morning, agent. You seem to be a little bit agitated, and you are apparently delusional. The only one that put any women through anything is my useless shit of a son."
"I am going to prove that that is also a crock of shit." Robinson rose from his seat as he pulled a single paper out from between the pages of the worn notebook and began reading in an affected voice.
"'The only thing I worry about being out on the road, is that I'm not there for my boy. He needs a man to take care of him and show him how to be a man himself.'"
"You shut the fuck up!" Theo hissed at the agent.
"Ooh, did I strike a nerve? Is that what you are, Theo, a man? Does this shit make you a man?" he tapped the notebook.
> "That book isn't about me," Theo said as he regained his composure, looking Robinson directly in the eyes and smiling.
"Come on. You think that this is what makes you a man? Torturing these girls, treating them like trash, mutilating their bodies makes you feel like a big shot? I think someone might be overcompensating for a little, tiny shortcoming. Is that it, Theo? Did you find out that Tim didn't totally take after you? Did he whip it out and you saw that he was literally twice the man that you are? Did you realize then that you are nothing but a great big pussy?"
"Is this your way of telling me that you are sweet on me, Agent? If you really want to see what I'm packing, that blow job offer still stands."
"I just wanted to give you one more chance to confess. When I walk out that door, there is no going back, Theo. You will go to trial and it will end with a needle in your arm."
"I think we'll just have to see about that, Special Agent." Theo brought his fingers to his lips and blew a kiss at Robinson.
Robinson grabbed the notebook and headed towards the door. Theo would never confess, but he knew that the evidence was more than enough to put this bag of shit on death row.
"Agent? Make sure that you tell my son I said hello."
Robinson left without wasting one more breath on Theodore Shively.
Chapter 25
"Finally!" Smithson exclaimed as he heard the young prisoner call out that he was finished writing out his confession.
He looked around for Robinson, but he was nowhere to be found. Smithson entered the room that housed Timothy Shively and took a seat at the table.
"I'm done." The young man looked exhausted.
"Did you sign it?"
"Yes I did. I want to go back to my cell now."
"Hold your horses, Son. I'll have to look it over first."
"I am not your son. You can look it over while I'm sleeping. I don't need to be here while you try to sound out the big words. Take me back to my fucking cell."
"There is something that I don't understand, Tim. You are a smart guy. You were at the top of your class in school. You could have gotten a scholarship or something and gone to college. Why the hell did you choose to throw your life away?" Smithson was genuinely interested in knowing the answer to this question.
"Take me back to my cell."
"Was it something that happened to you when you were little? Did mommy make you do bad things?" He said in a mocking tone.
Tim just continued to stare ahead.
"Or was it Daddy? Did he touch you in your special places?"
"Fuck you, pig."
"Ooh, there is a little sauce left in you! That is it, isn't it? Dad got a little frisky with you? Made you feel all funny in your tummy?" He laughed wildly at his own joke. He leaned in close to Tim. "I'll just bet you liked it, too."
Tim turned his head slowly, looking him directly in the eyes. He spat a lump of phlegm that landed directly in the detective's eye.
"Motherfucker!" Smithson yelled as he wiped the saliva from his face. "You are nothing but a fucking animal. I swear to it, I will be right there in the front row when they hook you up and put you down. I am gonna clap like I'm at the fucking opera when you piss and shit all over yourself. Piece of shit."
"Take me back to my cell."
Smithson opened the door and summoned two uniformed officers.
When they entered the room, he stepped out, still wiping at his face.
"Take this piece of trash back to his cell."
The two officers unlocked the shackles from Tim's feet and then removed the lock that held his hand irons to the table. They grabbed him under the arms and hoisted him up from the chair that he had been sitting in for more than seven straight hours. His legs gave way on the first attempt, but he quickly gained his footing.
"Come on, Princess," one of the officers said, chuckling.
Tim shuffled towards the door with the help of the two officers. As they exited the room, Smithson took one last opportunity to taunt him.
"See you at trial, Sweetheart."
Tim did not even look at him; he just continued to shuffle along on his way to his cell, gaining strength with every step.
As they rounded the corner, a door to the left opened. Special Agent Robinson stepped out and looked surprised when he saw Tim standing there.
Tim looked into the room and saw his father sitting at the table with his hands folded. Theo looked at him and smiled a smug smile, as though he had some sort of secret.
From that point on, to Special Agent Robinson, everything seemed to move in slow motion.
Tim moved in a flash, ramming his elbow into the chest of the young Asian officer to his left, sending the cop careening to the floor. The criminal pushed away from the second officer and barreled toward Robinson.
The FBI agent reached for his gun. Even though it seemed like an eternity, Tim was upon him in less than a second. He brought his shackled fists down on Robinson's shoulder, knocking the gun from his hand. He brought his balled fists back up and connected with the side of Robinson's head, knocking him to the floor, alongside his gun.
Tim seemed to have little interest in Robinson or the gun on the floor. He ran past the agent and ran into the interrogation room where his father was being held. He grabbed the second chair and wedged it up against the door, stopping the officers from following him.
"Why the fuck weren't his hand irons attached to his waist chain? What the hell were you thinking?" Robinson screamed at the two officers as he jumped up and pounded his sore shoulder against the door.
It was no use; the door was not going to budge. He ran around and went through the door that led to the other side of the two-way mirror.
He saw Tim standing behind his father, the chain that joined his hands pulled tight around Theo's throat. The older man's eyes were bulging as he tried to lift his hands to stop the attack. It was all in vain. His hand irons were still attached to the loop in the tabletop.
Robinson banged on the glass, trying to get Tim's attention away from his task at hand. Tim was lost in a rage. He jerked the chains upwards, lifting Theo off the metal seat, effectively hanging him as he was seated at the table. The look on Tim's face was one of complete lunacy. His eyes rolled back into his crimson-hued face. A string of snot dripped from his nose and mingled with the saliva that ran down his chin and landed on the top of his dying father's head. He stared ahead, never looking down at what he was doing or acknowledging the pounding coming from the other side of the glass, or the officers still working on opening the door. His mouth was moving, repeating something over and over.
Robinson flipped the switch that activated the speakers and he was able to hear what Tim was repeating.
"Coward."
A line of blood had begun to run from under the chains that were squeezing the last bits of life from Theo. His head lolled and rocked with each pull and tug of the chain. Tim's father was dead, but he did not stop for more than a minute.
Finally, Tim's body went slack. The chain slipped from Theo's neck and Tim had to pull his body back to get his arms from around his father's throat. Robinson could see the color draining from the boy's face as he walked around and leaned on the table. He picked up the notepad that sat there. Using Theo's pencil, he wrote what looked like a single sentence. He reached up and wiped the drool away with the back of his hand before standing up straight.
He walked up to the two-way glass in a daze. He pressed the notepad against the glass and stared through, directly at Robinson. The agent knew that there was no way that Tim could see him, but still it felt as though the boy was staring directly into him. He read the words that Tim had written across the bottom of the yellow legal paper.
'I am no coward.'
Robinson watched as Tim raised his hand to his neck. The small, sharpened pencil that he held sunk into the flesh of his throat. A spray of arterial blood shot across the glass as Tim pulled the pencil out and stabbed one last time.
Robinson beat his fists on hi
s side of the glass and screamed.
"No!"
Tim's face turned white and his body crumpled to the floor. Robinson watched through the mirror as Tim lay on the floor, bleeding out.
The officers were finally able to break through the door. When they entered the room, Tim was already dead.
Robinson walked back to the desk that he inhabited during his time with the police department. He sat down and put his head in his hands, wondering how it all could have gone so terribly wrong.
###
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this book, please check these other titles available from Christine Sutton.
Killers
All the Little Children
Other titles available
Prodigal Son Page 10
