A Necessary Evil

by Christina Kaye

  “Great!” Franklin clapped his hands together. “Let’s hear it, then. Oliver, stand back up, please. Would you do the honors?”

  “Yes. I’d be happy to.” Oliver stood again and fidgeted with his bowtie. “The jury has deliberated, and they have found Collin McAllister guilty on all charges.”

  “Splendid!” Franklin shouted. “I knew you all would do the right thing.”

  Collin lowered his chin to his chest, and his body went limp. His heart thudded dully in his chest, and a painful lump formed in his throat. He wasn’t surprised. Not in the least. But he hated himself for having held out a tiny shred of hope that these six people might actually see how wrong this whole process was and have pity on him.

  “Now,” Franklin said as he paced before the jury, “the hardest part of your job begins now. You must deliberate and come up with a sentence that sufficiently punishes this man for his crimes. I trust you will think about all the horrendous things he has done. Think about those six poor girls whom he tormented and killed just for the pleasure of it. Think about my innocent granddaughter whom he would have killed had I not found him just in the nick of time. Discuss it amongst yourselves and come up with a punishment that is fitting and appropriate. Now, this time, if you don’t mind, I’m going to hang around and listen in. Last time I tried to give you all some privacy, this man…” he pointed at Collin, “…tried to kill me. So, add that to the list of his crimes too. But don’t mind me. I’ll be sitting here, listening quietly, and minding my own business. Carry on.”

  At first, everyone in the jury sat still and looked at one another quizzically. Apparently, no one knew how or when to start.

  Finally, after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Oliver, the attorney, stood and said, “I think we should each think of a punishment that would be appropriate for this defendant and share it with the group. Then we can vote on which idea we like best, and the idea which gets the most votes wins.”

  “Sounds not only creative, but ingenious to me,” Franklin said.

  Collin clenched his fists and shot Franklin a narrow glare. His emotions alternated between fear, acceptance, and anger. Right now, he felt nothing but utter contempt for Franklin and how casually he was speaking about Collin’s death. He spoke of his “punishment” in the flippant way one might discuss the weather or sports. According to the old man, Collin was a monster. But the more he observed Franklin, the more he became convinced that Franklin was more of a sociopath than he ever was.

  “I think we should cut off his balls.” Everyone, including Collin, looked over to see the freaky blue-haired girl standing with her hand held high.

  “Go on, Lynx,” Franklin said.

  Her name was Lynx? No wonder. She was the strangest looking girl Collin had ever seen in his life. And he’d been stalking young women for years. Now, here was this freak with a stupid name suggesting they cut off his balls? Collin felt his stomach roll over on itself at the mere thought of it.

  The girl looked around nervously then spoke up again. “Yeah, I think we should cut off his balls for what he did to those girls. He violated them against their will. Any man who does that to a woman deserves to lose their balls.”

  “It’s an interesting idea,” Franklin said, rubbing his chin. “Is that all?”

  “No,” she said. “I think we should shove them down his throat too.”

  Gasps of revulsion escaped from a few of the jury members. This Lynx was the only female in the group. Perhaps she had forgotten that no man would ever inflict pain on another man’s privates. Even though the thought of losing his balls made Collin nauseated, he wasn’t really worried about this suggested punishment. There was no way the men in the group would go for it. They may want him dead, but some things were worse than death. And for a man, losing your balls fit the bill.

  “Anyone else?” Franklin asked. Even the old man looked a bit uncomfortable with her recommendation.

  The Italian-American with greasy black hair raised his chubby hand.

  “Yes, Giovanni?” Franklin pointed at the man with a large belly that hung over his belt.

  “Hows about we tie him to an anchor and drop’m in the water? Let him sleep with the fishes. That’s how we did things back in Chicago.”

  Franklin stuck out his bottom lip and nodded. “Yes, but we’re nowhere near the ocean, Giovanni.”

  “Forgettaboutit,” the man said with a wave of his hand. “We drop’m in one of the lakes around here. There’s Cave Run, Dale Hollow, Lake Cumberland, and my personal favorite, the deepest one we got…Herrington Lake. That sonofabitch is two-hundred-fifty feet deep.”

  Collin blinked rapidly and bit his bottom lip. This suggestion was a little less extreme than Lynx’s had been, but the thought of drowning in the depths of Herrington Lake while his lungs slowly filled with murky lake water sent a shiver up his spine. He’d always thought the last way he’d ever want to die was by drowning.

  “Now that,” Franklin said, pointing at Giovanni, “is a brilliant idea. I like the way you think.”

  Giovanni beamed at the compliment and gave a little mock bow before returning to his seat.

  “Next?” Franklin said.

  The next hand to raise was the decent-looking Hispanic fellow. He appeared to be in his mid-forties and reminded Collin of the famous actor Benjamin Bratt. Collin was already growing weary of this charade. His thoughts turned to his family farm, The Vault, and his precious books. What he wouldn’t give to read just one more classic novel.

  “I say we tie him to a post and burn him alive. It’ll be nice and slow…and painful.”

  “If anyone would know how painful it is to be burned, it’s you, Alex.”

  The man rolled up the sleeve and held out his right arm. His skin was rippled and pink. It looked raw, as if the burn had happened very recently.

  Franklin turned to Collin. “Alex is a fireman. Well, used to be a fireman. He got that burn while saving a woman and her baby from an apartment fire this summer. Needless to say, he no longer works for the fire department. He now works for me as…let’s just call him my fire expert.” He turned to face Alex. “I like the way you think, hombre. But we still have a couple more people to hear from. Dr. Patesh, do you have any ideas for me?”

  The rotund, dark-skinned man with the sweaty bald head stood. He looked like he was going to keel over any minute from an overdose of nerves. His hands were shaking, and he stuttered when he spoke. “I-I was thinking…per-perhaps I could dose him with a l-large amount of S-S-Succinylcholine. It’s a v-very strong paralytic drug. He would be c-completely unable to move, b-but he could feel absolutely everything we put him through. Y-you could take your t-time.”

  “It’s brilliant!” Franklin exclaimed with a wide grin.

  Collin felt dizzy, and he had to fight back the bile that rose in his throat. The thought of being paralyzed but feeling himself being slowly tortured to death almost made him pass out.

  “You’re a sick bastard,” Collin said to Franklin.

  “I’m not sick, Collin. I just believe that you should be punished appropriately and according to what you deserve. Any eye for an eye, and all that.”

  “That’s not even what the Bible really says,” Collin said, frustrated with Franklin’s ignorance.

  But Franklin ignored Collin and turned back to the jury. “Any other ideas? Oliver, how about you?”

  The lawyer stood, fidgeting with the hem of his tweed jacket. “Well, sir, I agree with you. This man should be punished according to his sins. But while all these ideas are creative and compelling, I’m afraid I have to disagree with those who would draw out this man’s death and make it last longer than necessary.”

  Franklin didn’t look pleased. “Really? Why is that, Mr. Martin?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. He deserves to suffer for what he’s done. And I would personally love to watch him suffer.” Franklin smiled again. “But I think it would be prudent to remind you, sir, that the police are trying to find you and sto
p you before you can punish this man. The longer you take to kill him, the higher the odds that detective will track you down and save him.”

  Franklin stroked his chin and furrowed his brow. “I do see your point. So, what do you suggest, then?”

  “I suggest we put an end to this trial, put a bullet in his head, and then dispose of his body in a way no one would ever be able to find even a trace of him.”

  “And how would we do that?”

  “You keep a farm in your ex-wife’s name, right?”

  “Yes. Susan runs the horse farm out on Old Paris Pike.”

  “And you also have cows and pigs on the property, right?”

  “That’s true. What are you thinking, Oliver?”

  “I’m thinking we feed him to the pigs.”

  A collective gasp went up from the jury members. They all turned to Oliver, who was wringing his hands and wearing a proud look on his face. Collin wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that he might not have to suffer a long and drawn out death or be horrified at the thought of pigs devouring every last piece of his body. He felt like he was going to be sick, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

  “That is just absolutely brilliant!” Franklin shouted as he strode quickly over to where Oliver was standing with outstretched arms. He grabbed the old attorney’s face with both hands and planted a kiss square on his forehead. “You see? This is why I keep you around. I would never have thought about the pigs!”

  “Yes, well,” Oliver said, looking somewhat embarrassed by Franklin’s sudden outpouring of affection and praise, “we still have to figure out the best way to, um, well, to carry out his sentence. The pigs are just a means of, er, disposal.”

  “All right, then,” Franklin said, looking around at the others. “Why don’t we put it to a vote? All in favor of Lynx’s suggestion that we castrate him, raise your hands.”

  Only Lynx’s arm shot straight up into the air. After a few seconds, she looked around and sheepishly lowered her hand.

  “Okay, then, how about Alex’s idea? Who thinks we should burn him alive?”

  As Franklin ran through all the morbid ways they could kill Collin, he shuddered in his seat. Each idea had been more frightening than the one before, and none of them was a way Collin had ever imagined he might leave this earth. He looked out through the window near the ceiling and listened intently for the muffled sound of police car sirens, but his heart sank when he heard none.

  “Then, it’s decided.” Collin’s attention was brought back to the jury and to Franklin, who was now walking back toward where Collin was tied to the chair, praying in vain for salvation that would never come. “You not listening? Well, then, I’ll repeat myself. The jury has voted, and it’s been decided that you will be drugged with whatever drug the good doc has suggested, and I’m going to take my time killing you, slowly, methodically, and piece, by piece, by piece.” He knelt so his eyes were level with Collin’s. “You’re going to die almost exactly like your old man. How does that make you feel?”

  “Go to hell,” Collin said. Though he was an educated man and there were many eloquent and clever things he could easily have come up with to say, in that moment, those were the only few words that seemed appropriate.

  Franklin patted Collin on the knee and stood. “After you, son. After you.”

  Chapter 29

  Kurt

  With his service weapon at the ready, Detective Jamison communicated with his partner, Detective Howard, via a series of rapid hand gestures. Once Howard had given him the all clear, Kurt pushed his way through the front door of the warehouse on High Street. When he’d crashed through the door, he scanned the expanse of the open warehouse floor in a defensive crouch with his arms extended and his finger on the trigger, just in case Frankie decided he’d rather go down in a blaze of glory.

  His shoulders slouched, and he brought his weapon down to his side. Feeling his pulse in his throat, he lowered his chin to his chest. The warehouse was obviously empty.

  “Damn it,” Kurt muttered under his breath.

  “No sign of him?” Lonnie asked as he crossed the threshold and walked up to Kurt.

  “Obviously not. Crap.”

  “I thought you had a hunch.” Lonnie shoved his gun back into its holster.

  “I did. This is the only one of Frankie’s properties that is abandoned. When I saw the condemnation order in the court records, I thought for sure…well, I was wrong.”

  “Don’t feel bad, man,” Lonnie said, not taking the opportunity to rib Kurt as he normally would. “The man knows how to cover himself. I couldn’t find any properties outside the city limits that seemed a likely hideout. He’s pulled it off.”

  “I can’t let him get away with it again,” Kurt blurted as he kicked a rock across the warehouse floor.

  “Get away with what again?” Lonnie’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion.

  As soon as Kurt saw the curious look on Lonnie’s face, he realized what he’d accidentally said. He wanted to suck the words back in like a Hoover, but it was too late. The last thing he needed was to explain to his partner why he had been covering for a murderer for nearly forty years. Lonnie knew Frankie had, in all likelihood, killed Julian McAllister, but he had no idea Kurt had known about it all this time. Maybe he would understand, but what if he didn’t? Kurt didn’t want to find out what would happen if his partner decided to report what he’d learned to the lieutenant, or worse, Internal Affairs. He didn’t think Lonnie would do that to him, but he wasn’t about to risk his pension, and maybe even his freedom, to find out. He had to think of a believable response quickly.

  “Nothing specific. I’m just saying…he’s always been one step ahead of the law, and he’s never been prosecuted for a crime, even though everyone knows he does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and however he wants.”

  Lonnie looked at Kurt for a few seconds, just long enough for Kurt to worry he hadn’t been convincing enough. Then, thankfully, Lonnie nodded. “Tell me about it. But don’t worry. You know the old saying. We only have to be lucky once, but the bad guys have to be lucky every single time.”

  “True.”

  “Let’s do a sweep of this place, just in case, but then we should head back to the precinct and see if we can find this slick SOB.”

  When Kurt had done a thorough once-over of the warehouse and he and Lonnie were convinced Frankie had never had Collin McAllister there, they climbed back into the cruiser, and Lonnie drove them back down to the department.

  Upon their arrival, Kurt lowered himself slowly into his chair. His back was acting up again, as it usually did when he was under a lot of stress. It felt like a dozen tiny knives were stabbing him just above his tailbone. Then he remembered Lonnie’s special stash of Percocet.

  “Hey, Lonnie,” he called over toward his partner.

  “’Sup, Whiskey?”

  “You got any more of those…”

  Lonnie turned and smiled at Kurt. “Ain’t bad, are they?”

  “They’re okay,” Kurt said. He really did love the pleasure in a pill. “My back’s hurting pretty badly. Long day already.”

  “Sure thing, buddy.” Lonnie opened his desk drawer, retrieved the pill bottle, and tossed it across the office. “Just keep them.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I don’t need them anymore. And that old back of yours isn’t getting any better. Just promise me you’ll go see the doctor soon. Okay?”

  Surprised at his partner’s seemingly genuine concern for his physical health, Kurt nodded. “Yeah. I’ll call him first thing Monday morning.”

  Lonnie gave Kurt a thumbs-up and turned back to his computer screen. “Any other thoughts on how we can find Cartwright?”

  Kurt opened the bottle and shook out one pill. As he was about to put the lid back on, he paused, then shook out another pill. What the hell? He threw them back and dry swallowed them both. “I have no idea. He could be anywhere. It might be time to cut our losses.”

 
“No,” Lonnie said. “I know what I said earlier, and yes, McAllister deserves what’s coming to him, but the truth is we can’t let him continue to do whatever the hell he wants to do. He thinks he owns this town. If we give up now, if we don’t stop him once and for all, he’ll just keep committing crimes, and we’ll keep pretending we don’t know what he’s doing. You can’t give up now, man.”

  Kurt propped his elbows on his desk and rubbed tiny circles into his temples. Lonnie was right. He knew it. There was no way he could let Frankie do what he had planned. But Kurt had no idea how to find Frankie before he could torture and kill Collin McAllister, like he had done to his father nearly forty years prior. He was as helpless to stop Frankie now as he had been then.

  His mind wandered back to the last conversation he’d had with his former best friend before they became virtual strangers. It was 1983, and Kurt had recently returned home from his two-year tour in South Korea. He had been honorably discharged after his four-year initial enlistment contract. Kurt and Frankie hadn’t spoken one word to one another since the day he’d left for basic, and though he missed his brother, they’d ended things on very bad terms. But how else was Kurt supposed to react upon finding out the boy he grew up with turned into a man capable of torturing and killing someone?

  Kurt had thought of Frankie often during his enlistment. Especially when he was overseas, stationed at Camp Greaves near the DMZ between South and North Korea. He had grown close to his platoon buddies; it was easy when living in such close quarters in a war zone. However, his friendships with these other soldiers only made him miss his old friend more. Frankie had understood Kurt in a way no one, besides Addie, ever had. To think he would never see or talk to him again was painful in a way Kurt would never admit to anyone.

  So, when he walked into Sullivan’s his first night back in Lexington and saw Frankie sitting at the end of the bar, he felt a tugging at his heart. He stood there in the doorway unable to move for a good twenty or thirty seconds. Kurt watched the way his friend threw his head back in laughter and patted his drinking buddies on the back. Frankie was only four years older than he’d been the last time Kurt had seen him, but he looked as if he’d aged ten years or more. Little streaks of early gray highlighted his jet-black hair at his temples and forehead, and he’d put on some weight in his belly. His level of confidence, however, had not changed one bit. Frankie looked in control, and each man surrounding him looked at him expectantly, as if awaiting his next command.