One Plus One (The Millionth Trilogy Book 3)

by Tony Faggioli

  ONE PLUS ONE

  TONY FAGGIOLI

  ATTICUS CREATIVE

  CONTENTS

  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

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  About the Author

  Also by Tony Faggioli

  All rights reserved

  (c) Tony Faggioli July 2016

  Atticus Creative

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN 978-0-9978974-6-3 print edition

  ISBN 978-0-9978974-7-0 ebook edition

  For my mother...here's hoping that heaven is as sweet as the laugh you left behind.

  CHAPTER 1

  DETECTIVE EVAN PARKER ADVANCED past the crime scene tape, up the driveway and through the front door of the Fasano residence in La Canada, California with a focused determination to keep it together. Getting here had not been easy.

  The drive here from Beaury had been the longest in his life, even though he’d done it at over a hundred miles an hour, the desert landscape blurring into a shit smear of nothingness as he advanced after a madman who was somehow mixed up the investigation of Caitlyn Hall.

  Murillo had already told him to expect the worst when he got there, but it still didn’t help when the moment finally arrived.

  It was obvious that the attack had taken place in the foyer, right inside the entrance of the front door, and that it had been a violent one. There was a shattered painting against the wall. Beneath it a metal-framed table had been collapsed, its glass shelf now in shards across the floor along with a broken ceramic vase, the daisies it once held having fallen in a small arc, like a yellow and white rainbow that would’ve almost been beautiful if not for the streaks of blood that were cast like red crescents alongside it.

  Shit.

  Tamara Fasano had put up one hell of a fight. Parker suddenly remembered his partner, Detective Napoleon Villa, now missing and presumed dead, though Parker knew better. After they’d come to the Fasano residence looking for Kyle Fasano as a suspect in the Caitlyn Hall case, they’d instead been stuck interviewing Tamara, his wife, who was nobody’s wilting flower. Nap had been impressed, and afterwards he told Parker that it seemed like Tamara was a “good wife.”

  That was true. But she evidently was an even better Mama Bear too.

  On the wall near the floor was a bloody handprint, female in size, finger streaks forming “s” shapes on the way down. There were scratches in the paint. She’d not stayed down easy; evidently she’d tried to claw her way back to her feet. The crime scene guys were already on scene, planting evidence markers everywhere, with the majority of the foyer and hall now taped off as well. One tech crouched with a digital camera, aiming carefully, his flash firing repeatedly.

  Parker looked down and felt his heart seize. There, marked crime scene item #32, was a Welch’s Flavor Blast juice box, its tiny straw bent in half.

  “Jesus,” Parker whispered, shaking his head. The kids. He’d hoped they hadn’t been home when this happened, that maybe they were at school or with some friends.

  “Jesus is your friend and mine, brotha.”

  Parker recognized the voice immediately. “Murillo.”

  The man who shook his hand was short and a bit on the heavy side, with big hands and a face that usually held an even bigger smile. He wasn’t smiling now, but he looked encouraged.

  “And he was a friend to these kids too. They’re good, man. In the backyard.”

  Parker sighed. “You’re serious?”

  Rubbing his hand over his full mustache and down his goatee, Murillo shook his head. “A hundred percent. We just found them a little while ago and it was total chaos once we did.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep. Fireman, paramedics, the forensic guys, you name it, we were all scrambling. Klink’s in the backyard now, trying to get information from them as best he can.”

  “Where were they?”

  Murillo’s face was tinged with a bit of awe. “Smart kids, man. They hid from this guy in the tool shed out back. The girl used a shovel to bar the doors from inside.”

  Parker shook his head in amazement.

  “Yep. Close. Very close. He was after them for sure, told them he was going to take them for a ‘swim’ in the pool.”

  A chill spilled down Parker’s back. “Sick bastard.”

  “Yep. No doubt. From the looks of it, though, the mom wasn’t so lucky.”

  “Any witnesses to what happened?”

  “No. But it’s obvious that he took her afterwards. You said his name was Troy Forester?”

  “Yeah. Bread deliveryman in Beaury. Body counts over eighty.”

  Murillo’s face went slack. “Bull… shit.”

  “Got the trophies to prove it, hair tassels from the vics, and I think an equal number of bodies down a ravine in the mountains out there.” Parker ran his hand through his hair and shook his head again. “By the time we tracked him down, he had two more in the garage.”

  “Alive?”

  “Yep. Though the county sheriff may pay the price for getting there before we did.”

  “May?”

  Parker could still remember when Kendall had asked one of the volunteer deputies to drive Parker back to his hotel. As they’d pulled away from Troy Forester’s house, Kendall’s sad and shocked expression hadn’t changed a bit as Conch was loaded into the ambulance and driven away, with two paramedics and an EMT still working on him feverishly. “Yeah. He’s not dead, at least not last I heard, but his heart stopped twice before they could even get him in the ambulance.”

  “Damn,” Murillo said.

  “Can I see the kids?”

  Murillo grimaced. “You know, Park, technically you’re still suspended. You shouldn’t even be here.”

  Parker dead-eyed him. “And?”

  Murillo thought for a second and then shrugged. “And you’re now the best lead we have on this case… so screw it. Go ahead. I’ll explain to the captain when he gets here.”

  “The cap’s coming here?” Parker asked as he followed Murillo through the kitchen, past the dining room table, where Parker and Napoleon had interviewed Mrs. Fasano not that long ago, then into the den and out through a pair of sliding glass doors that led to the patio and pool beyond.

  “Yep. On his way now.”

  “That explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why he was blowing up my cell on the drive here.”

  “You gonna wait for him?”

  “Screw him. He wants my help on this case going forwards? He’d better reinstate my ass.”

  “Hmm. Well, I know you’re a newbie, but the guys would still love to have you back.”

  As they walked out onto the
patio, a group of three uniformed cops parted, like a wall of LAPD blue, and let them past. Beyond them stood Klink and…

  When Parker saw the two children, his heart broke; the little boy, about seven, was clutching a stuffed animal to his chest, evidently still in shock. A cellophane blanket had been draped over his shoulders by the paramedics, and his little eyes stared blankly into the pool. The little girl, about ten or so, was rambling and in a panic. “You have to help my mom!” she yelled.

  “We know that, Janie. We’re trying. But we need your help too,” Klink was saying, his normally deep voice softened for the kids. When Parker walked up, Klink stood. They nodded at each other.

  “Parker,” Klink said with a grim smile, his pale white face shiny in the waning light of the day, his thinning blond hair making a last stand against premature baldness.

  “Klink.”

  “You doing okay?”

  “Yeah. Do you mind?” Parker asked, nodding towards Janie.

  Klink fixed his blue eyes on Parker for a moment, then nodded.

  He extended his hand to the little girl. “Hi… Janie, right?”

  The little girl nodded but wouldn’t look at him.

  “My name is Det… my name is Mr. Parker.”

  “I know who you are,” Janie said, still looking at the ground. “You’re the detective who came here that night with the other detective and upset my mommy.”

  There was an awkward silence. Parker nodded for a second or two. He could almost feel every cop in the vicinity thinking about Napoleon: Where was he? What happened to him? Had Parker told the truth about that night? Was he hiding something? Finally, mercifully, one of the uniforms cleared his throat.

  “Yes. I am. I mean… I was. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to upset your mom that night.”

  Janie kept her head down, her fingers playing ceaselessly with a strand of her long hair.

  “We were trying to figure out what happened to someone.”

  “Like what’s happened to my mom?” Janie asked, finally looking up at him.

  Parker wished she hadn’t. The conviction in her eyes was almost piercing. He nodded.

  “Will you find her?”

  Parker knew the stock answer. The trained answer. He ignored it. “Yes.”

  Klink shuffled his feet and Murillo folded his arms, their body language trying to remind him not to make promises that he might not be able to keep.

  “Okay. You have to,” she said, and her lower lip trembled as she added, “because the man that took my mommy wasn’t normal.”

  “Janie, listen—” Klink tried to say.

  “No! I won’t listen. You listen!” she screamed, and then she began to cry.

  “Shhhhh… hey, hey, come here,” Parker said as he knelt down and put out his arms.

  She shook her head the whole time she shuffled towards him. When she was within reach, Parker rested his hands on her tiny shoulders, which were covered by light-green cotton pajamas.

  “Calm down. You can tell me, okay? What is it, Janie?”

  “I’ve been telling them, but they won’t listen to me,” she sobbed.

  “Tell me then,” Parker replied.

  “You won’t believe me either. You won’t!”

  “Try me.”

  She stopped crying and took a deep breath before fixing her eyes on Parker with a poker stare that was beyond her years. “It was a monster,” she said, her voice cracking momentarily. Her eyes grew big as they filled with the memory of whatever she’d seen. After a second or two she added, “A devil-monster.”

  The uniforms, Murillo, Klink and Parker remained silent; the only sound remaining was that of the pool filter as it gurgled and churned nearby.

  Janie turned her gaze back to Parker, fear now filling her face. “You don’t believe me either, do you?” she cried.

  Parker leaned back. He glanced at Murillo briefly, then back to Janie, as his own eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t help it.

  “Oh, I believe you,” Parker said, taking little Janie’s hands between both of his and squeezing gently. “I… don’t… doubt… you… one bit.”

  “You promise?” she squeaked.

  Parker leaned into her face and then cupped her round cheeks in his hands. “I swear.”

  Just then, his cell phone rang. It was Deputy Kendall.

  “I’ll be right back Janie. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  He stepped away and answered on the third ring. “Hello.”

  “Parker?”

  With all he’d already been through in his life, Parker knew the tone of someone about to bear bad news. So he braced himself and forced the question out of his mouth. “Yeah, Kendall?”

  The deputy’s voice shook as he struggled to say the words. “He didn’t make, Parker. The sheriff’s dead.”

  Parker was surprised at how weak he felt all of a sudden, like maybe his legs might give out on him, right there in front of everyone. All he could think about was Sheriff Conch and his wife, Mandy, bantering over the pie she’d made the night they’d all stayed at the station house in Beaury trying to work the case. She was worried about his weight. Sheriff Conch was worried about his retirement.

  “Dammit,” Parker replied, the word coming out of his mouth so weakly that it was barely a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Kendall. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay, man,” Kendall said, but the words were hollow. Because it wasn’t okay. Because they both knew they were sharing a moment between them that would change them forever.

  Parker had been to this place, before the immensity of death, many times, and each time he told himself that the next time it would be easier. But it never was.

  “Parker? You there?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, man. I’m just… I don’t know what to say, Kendall.”

  “Not what you were expecting, huh?”

  Rubbing his hand over his eyes, Parker replied, “No. I thought he’d pull through. I really did.”

  “Yeah. So did most everyone here. But Mandy, she seemed to know something we didn’t.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I dunno man. I ain’t much of a churchgoer, but she didn’t leave his side the whole time. And when she was here, she just prayed and prayed and prayed.”

  “Did his kids make it before he…”

  “Only his son and two of his grandkids. The rest were on their way but they live kinda far off. They didn’t make it. But you won’t believe who else made it.”

  “Who?”

  “Ashley Barton’s mom. You remember her?”

  “I never met her.”

  “Oh. That’s right. Well, anyway, she fainted at the crime scene the morning her daughter disappeared. Took it hard. So you can imagine how happy she was when we found Ashley alive.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Lost her mind with joy, because Ashley’s was pretty much unharmed, but then she heard what happened with the sheriff. She rolled up in here with her entire church congregation practically. Prayer circles in shifts, between Ashley down the hall and the sheriff, back and forth.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. I ain’t seen nothing like it. We’re a small town, Parker. The nurses on shift knew him. One of the doctors remembered when he was younger, how the sheriff helped him with some bullies. Oh, man…” And now he was crying.

  “Hey, you okay?” It was Murillo, grabbing Parker by the shoulder as Parker’s own eyes began to water. He nodded, and then remembering that the kids were standing right there, Parker composed himself and walked further away, towards the corner of the patio, each step feeling like an out of body experience.

  He wanted to say something, but the words that came to mind seemed far too small. So he waited, and after a bit, Kendall spoke again. “They prayed and prayed, man, but it just wasn’t enough.”

  Parker thought of Kamdesh, and Fallujah, the second time around, when the body counts and the prayers seemed to tally against each other, like some mad,
insane sort of math. All of it senseless and futile. “Yeah. Sometimes it isn’t, Kendall.”

  “But Mandy… man, Parker, she’s a mess but she’s holding it together. She wanted me to tell you something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “To not be blinded by vengeance now, when you go after this guy. To be careful. Can you believe that? I mean… man.”

  It wasn’t the common response, that was for sure. How many guys had Parker seen, filled with rage over the death of a buddy, who had advanced too far ahead of the platoon, or up a flight of stairs, or through the desert, thirsty for revenge and left only drinking their own blood? Too many. Parker had done the same, but had been lucky to live to tell about it. Though not lucky enough to be able to forget it.

  “Tell her I’ll be careful, Kendall.”

  “I will. I gotta go now, my wife just got here. But, Parker? One more thing?”

  “Yeah, Kendall. You name it.”

  “I ain’t Mandy, you hear? Do it for me. Kill that fucker.”

  The line went dead.

  Parker sighed. He didn’t really believe that Kendall meant that. They both were men of the law, and that meant resisting the urge to act outside of it, even when you really wanted to.

  He leaned against a wooden beam that supported the patio roof and again rubbed his eyes.

  Evidently he’d gotten closer to Sheriff Conch than he was aware of. How couldn’t you? The old man had grit, and a sweet wife and a simple life. How he was ever put in a place where he had to deal with Troy Forester was beyond Parker’s comprehension, and it made him angry. God himself should’ve prevented such a thing from happening.

  It was too much sometimes, which is why he’d spent most of his life just not thinking about it. He remembered Martinez with his Bible and his rosary under that hot desert Afghani sun, smiling amid the sorrows. He remembered Napoleon Villa’s face as he looked at the man in gray with such awe before they both disappeared to wherever. And he remembered the angel by the side of the road at that car crash.

  How did any of that make sense when a monster like Forester was allowed to kill all those girls, kill Conch, ravage the Fasano home, abduct Tamara and scar the Fasano children for life?

  Then Parker imagined Ashley Barton’s mom and the army of the Beaury Baptist Church, shuffling up and down the hall of the hospital, back and forth, praying just as hard for both, between one person who would live, and another who would die.