Behind the Closed Door: A Detective Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers (The Jacob Hayden Series Book 2)

by Charles Prandy

  “What’s your name?”

  He kept his head down and spoke with no authority, “Chris Campbell.”

  “Lift your head,” I said. “You’re a man now. Speak like one.”

  He raised his head but couldn’t keep eye contact with me.

  “I need to let you know that our conversation is being taped. Do you know why you’re here?”

  Chris shrugged but didn’t respond.

  “Is that a yes or no?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Did you and your girlfriend, Rachel Erickson, have an argument?”

  Chris lowered his head again.

  “Let’s get something straight before we continue. I’m a pretty easy going guy as long as you don’t lie to me, okay. We both know that you and Rachel had an argument. So when I ask if you two had an argument, just be honest about it.”

  Chris kept his head down. He didn’t answer right away, but after several seconds he nodded and said, “Yeah, we did.”

  “What about?”

  Chris shook his head, “She wanted to break-up with me.”

  “And you didn’t want to?”

  Chris shook his head again, “Nah, I didn’t.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what happened?”

  “She said she wasn’t feelin’ me no more. That I was too into hangin’ with the fellas.”

  “Were you?”

  Chris shrugged his shoulders.

  “So what happened next?”

  “I told her that she was trippin’.”

  “Is that how the argument escalated?”

  “Yeah, guess so.”

  “Did she yell at you?”

  Chris nodded.

  “Did you yell at her?”

  Chris nodded again.

  “When did you pull out your gun?”

  That’s when Chris’ shoulders started to bounce up and down and then he let out a wail of a cry that went on for several minutes.

  “Oh God,” he cried. He looked up and his eyes were the color of red plums. “Is she dead?”

  I nodded.

  He fell to the floor and grabbed his knees into the fetal position. He kept saying, Oh God. After several minutes he composed himself and climbed back into the chair. His face was covered with tears. He pulled his shirt up and wiped some of the tears away.

  “Tell me from the beginning what happened,” I said.

  He did. He told me that three weeks ago, Rachel called him and said that she didn’t want to be with him anymore. He tried to convince her to stay but she wouldn’t. Weeks went by without her taking his calls. So he said he waited until he thought it was the right time to approach her. He showed up at her building. He begged for her back but she didn’t want to be with a weed-smoking thug wannabe. He felt insulted and they started yelling at each other. He became enraged and before he knew it, he pulled out his gun and shot her. He ran away when he realized what he did.

  That was it. The whole confession.

  “I didn’t mean to do it.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  “I loved her too much.”

  “I know.”

  “I would have done anything for her.”

  I stayed quiet.

  “I was willing to do anything to convince her that we were meant for each other.”

  “You loved her that much?”

  “More than life itself.”

  I stood up and opened the door. Uniformed officers handcuffed Chris and took him away.

  I went back to my desk. I was happy that I got a confession, but sad that I had to get a confession. A senseless murder that should never have happened. I started to write my report when something Chris said made me pause in thought. He said that he would have done anything to convince her that they were meant for each other. He loved her that much. What would he have done given the chance? Steal? Kill? And how long would he have waited? One year? Two? Twenty-five?

  I looked at Jack Smith’s file. What was his true motive? Could it be…no that’s just foolish. I grabbed a pen and started twirling it between my fingers. I leaned back in my chair and looked at the ceiling. Think, Jacob. But don’t think about that. I looked around the station. The room was alive for so late at night. I sat up in my chair and shuffled some papers around on my desk. I looked at the clock and it read twelve past five. I leaned back in my chair and shook my head. Damn. Jacob, you’re either going to sound like the world’s biggest fool or the brightest detective.

  I picked up my phone and dialed Jack’s mother.

  Sixty-eight

  “Sorry to be calling so late, Mrs. Smith.”

  “That’s okay, detective. I wasn’t asleep yet. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s about your son.”

  I heard a sigh.

  “I’m not sure what else I can tell you,” she said. “We went over everything after you told me that it wasn’t Jack’s body that was found.”

  Immediately after I confirmed that the body we found was Gary Fowles’, I called Mrs. Smith and informed her of our discovery. She screamed through the phone. She kept saying “Jack’s alive!” But after I explained our theory she calmed her emotions. We talked for about two hours that day. She gave me more background information on Jack, but nothing that was helpful in finding him.

  “Yes, we went over a lot,” I said. “But we never talked about the teacher who molested Jack.”

  “I’m not sure how she’s relevant.”

  “She may be. I’m kinda throwing stones here, but I’d like to know more about their relationship.”

  “What’s there to tell? She molested my boy. Simple as that.” There was resentment in her tone.

  “Do you know if Jack continued to see her?”

  “Detective, I told you what happened. She used to take Jack to a room in the school that they termed ‘the closed door’ and they’d have sex. Once she was done with him she left him out to dry. He was heartbroken. She moved away and he never saw her in person again. It took him until he got to the Marines to get over her.”

  “Did he ever talk about her?”

  “No, never. But he wasn’t the same after that. She stole his innocence. And I don’t care what anyone says, you never forget your first love, especially when you’re a confused thirteen-year-old.”

  I pondered that thought. But then something clicked. “Wait you just said something. He never saw her in person again?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But he did see her again?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following, Mrs. Smith.”

  “Detective, at that time, the teacher’s name was Rosemary Hubert.”

  The name ran through my mind. Why did it sound familiar? Rosemary Hubert…Rosemary Hubert. Then, it clicked and the woman’s face came front in center in my mind. Hubert was her maiden name.

  “Are you telling me that the teacher who molested your son is”

  Before I could answer she said, “Yes, Detective, one and the same.”

  Jesus.

  I thanked her for her time and hung up the phone. I immediately dialed Agent Davis.

  Sixty-nine

  Back to the Present

  The man who went by Max, but who’s really Jack Smith, stood over the two Secret Service Agents he had shot. The killings were clean and precise. Minimal effort, but more importantly, no alarms sounded. His gun had a silencer attached. He’d been camped up in the vents off and on for the past three days, nourishing himself with water and food supplements. He climbed between floors from time to time, whenever the Secret Service did their sweeps.

  He looked at his watch and knew that he didn’t have much time. He bent down and searched through the agents’ pockets until he found the key card. He turned around and placed his hand on the doorknob and inserted the card into the slot. It clicked. He slowly pushed open the door. He knew that only one person was inside the room. He’d been watching it for the past
day. Secret Service arrived two days ago. The room’s occupant arrived earlier today, all by herself.

  The suite was vast and large, meant for people with deep pockets or for people with influence and power. The lights were off, but Jack knew the layout. He turned left and headed for the bedroom. The door was open. Jack stood in the doorway and could see her silhouette lying in bed from the outside moonlight. After all these years, she still doesn’t like to close the curtains, Jack thought.

  He walked towards her side of the bed. When he was last in her presence he was a young thirteen-year-old and she was twenty-four. Though twenty-seven years have passed, she’s as beautiful now as she was back then. Jack knelt down and inhaled her fragrance. Not the same as he remembered, but still a lovely scent. He reached his hand in his pocket and pulled out a needle. He placed his other hand over her mouth while inserting the needle into her neck. Her eyes flew open, but she didn’t have time to scream. She was back asleep within three seconds.

  I’m sorry, Madam First Lady, Jack thought. You’ve been away from me long enough. Now it’s our time again.

  Seventy

  Agent Davis’ phone rang several times before she picked up. We’d talked on the phone casually a few times since we last saw each other a month ago. There was definitely chemistry there, but I wasn’t ready to take the next step just yet.

  “You have great timing, Jacob. I was just dreaming that Shamar Moore and Morris Chestnut were both bare-chested and feeding me grapes while we were stranded on an abandoned island.”

  Any other time I would have gone with her humor but I couldn’t at this moment.

  “Jayden?”

  She sensed the stress in my voice. “Jacob, what’s wrong?”

  “Do you know if the First Lady is in D.C. tonight?”

  “I haven’t a clue. You know as well as I do that she’s protected by Secret Service. Why? What’s going on?”

  “Do you have any contacts at the Secret Service? I need to find out if she’s at the White House or not.”

  “Sure I do, but why do you need to know where the First Lady is?”

  I told her about Jack Smith’s child molestation and that the teacher who molested him was Rosemary Hubert. She caught on quicker than I did that Hubert was the First Lady’s maiden name.

  “But Jacob, even if what you’re saying is true, why do you think the First Lady is in danger? That happened over twenty-five years ago.”

  “That was the missing piece,” I said. “I kept wondering why would Jack kill Erin if she helped him steal over two million dollars in cash. It just didn’t make sense. There was no way she’d tell. She’d be implicating herself.”

  “Greed has a funny way of rearing its head when it comes to that much money.”

  “But this isn’t about the money, in that sense.” I took a breath. “Follow me for a minute.”

  “I’m following.”

  “Jack is thirteen years old. An attractive woman who he probably looked up to as his authority figure seduces him into sexual relations. He’s just starting to learn his body and his emotions. So he falls deep for her. The affair lasts most of the school year. He’s impressionable. Who knows what she could have been whispering into his ear. Then, after she stole his heart, she ends it and moves away.

  And just like that, he’s left alone with no one to talk to about what happened to him. His mother finds out, but he’s too heartbroken to talk to her about it. As a matter of fact, he begs her not to go to the police. So for the rest of his middle school and high school career, he’s not the same boy he was before the affair.”

  “I get that Jacob, but it’s still twenty-five years ago.”

  “Stay with me. So after high school, he joins the Marines. They toughen him up and turn him into a man. They teach him about weapons. They teach him about tactical maneuvers. They teach him how to kill. So while in the Marines, his mother says that she found the old Jack, the one who smiled a lot. But I’d be willing to bet that behind that smile was still the heartbroken thirteen-year-old who not only still had the lust for his first love, but the knowledge and skill to get her. I did a little research on the First Lady. Do you know when she and the President met?”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  “Winter of 1987. Do you know where?”

  “Let me guess, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania where Jack grew up.”

  “You gotcha. The President was just a young councilman at the time. And six months after they met, they got married.”

  “That’s fine and dandy Jacob, but what makes you think he’s going after the First Lady?”

  “Who does Erin Smith remind you of?”

  I could feel the wheels in her head moving. “Actually, she looked like a younger version of the First Lady.”

  “So you’re Jack Smith. You have over two million dollars in cash. The world believed you were dead. You kill off everyone close to you, including your own wife. What’s the next step?”

  Agent Davis sighed. “I still don’t know about this, Jacob. But I’ll put a call into the Secret Service.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  Seventy-one

  The Secret Service Agent guarding the stairs to the lower level didn’t hear the gun go off until it was too late. Pieces of the back of his head stuck against the wall as he fell to the floor. One down.

  Jack opened the door to the lower level. He didn’t hesitate. He knew where the other agent was set up. He sprinted down the hall. The agent heard his footsteps and started to turn around. Jack’s gun was already raised and fired before the agent could complete the turn. Two down. A total of four.

  Jack sprinted back to the stairs and back to the First Lady’s room. He scooped her up and took the stairs down three flights. He knew he only had minutes before there would be another check in with the Secret Service. When the four don’t respond, the building would be shut down and agents would rush to the First Lady’s room to make sure she’s all right.

  Jack took out his keycard and pushed it in the slot. Yes, he was staying at the hotel just like so many others who probably didn’t know there was a special guest in the penthouse suite. His cover was that his name was Robert Flask and he was on a business trip. His head was shaved and he wore a thick goatee.

  Once in the room, Jack had everything ready for his departure. Two suitcases were by the bed. One was packed. The other was empty. The First Lady was a petite woman standing only five-feet-two-inches tall. Jack opened the larger suitcase and placed her inside it. He folded her legs and arms and zipped it closed. He quickly tore off his clothes and changed to slacks and a dress shirt, fitting attire for someone about to catch a plane for an early morning business meeting.

  He carried one suitcase and placed the large one on its wheels.

  The lobby was quiet. There were just a few people walking around. Two men in dark suits entered the lobby speaking into their hands. They were asking for status updates. Jack started to walk towards the front desk. He had a pen in his hand with a pusher at the end. There was an attractive woman behind the counter wearing a business suit with the hotel’s logo on her jacket.

  “Checking out?” she asked.

  Jack smiled. “I am.”

  “Room?”

  Jack gave the room number. The woman looked at her computer screen. Jack raised his pen, giving the appearance that he was ready to sign whatever form that needed to be signed. He pushed the end of the pen and then a loud boom echoed through the hotel and the floor shook a little.

  The woman’s eyes became wide with fright. “Was that a bomb?” she asked.

  Jack played along, “Jesus, I think it was.”

  He lowered his hands so the woman couldn’t see them. He slightly twisted the pen and pushed the end again. A second boom went off, this one closer to the lobby. The room shook, lights from the ceiling fell down.

  “Oh my God!” the woman screamed. She climbed over the counter and ran for the front door.

  Jack didn’t wait around. He follow
ed her through the same door.

  Seventy-two

  My phone rang ten minutes later. Agent Davis was out of breath. Paranoia filled her voice as she spoke. “Jacob, I don’t know what kinda crystal ball you look into, but next time can you give me some good news.”

  I closed my eyes. She didn’t have to say anything else. I knew that the First Lady was in trouble.

  “What happened?”

  “There’s been an explosion at the hotel she’s staying at. Secret Service can’t find her.”

  “What about the President?”

  “He wasn’t with her, but he’s been informed of the situation.”

  I couldn’t say anything.

  “I’m on my way to your station. My director wants to speak with you right away.”

  She arrived fifteen minutes later. We cruised through early morning D.C. The black Crown Vic had its red light flashing. There was light traffic but we went through red light after red light.

  “Reagan National?” I asked.

  “Director Jim Spellman has a plane waiting for us.”

  We arrived at a part of the airport that I’d never been to before. Definitely above my pay grade. Airport security was waiting for our car. They escorted us to a private airstrip reserved for private planes. Inside the plane was FBI Director, Jim Spellman, and Special Agent, Tim Russell, Agent Davis’ supervisor. They were sitting on plush leather seats. I briefly looked around the plane. It was nicer than some people’s houses. Taxpayers’ dollars going to good use.

  Director Spellman stood up and extended his hand. “Detective Hayden, sorry to be meeting you under these terms.”

  “Same here, Sir.”

  Director Spellman appeared to be in his early sixties, but a fit looking sixty-year-old. When he stood he was my height with strong hands. Next, I shook Tim Russell’s hand.

  “Good to see you again, Detective Hayden,” Special Agent Russell said.