Duncan's Diary

by Christopher C. Payne

  The end result had been lots of parties, some sporadic involvement with the police, and his brother being arrested on one occasion for providing alcohol to underage minors. Luckily, he himself had never been arrested, or his FBI career might not have gotten off the ground. His parents actually gave them one check a week for groceries, as well as needed supplies. His average Safeway trip ran in the $500 to $600 dollar range. How could his parents have actually believed he and his brother spent that per week on just groceries was a little amazing. The checks were most likely payment for easing the guilt they felt for leaving them on their own at such a vulnerable stage.

  Interestingly enough, both he and his brother had developed a knack and desire for culinary achievement and spent several weekends making elaborate dinners for close friends. His was probably one of the few high school groups to have real dinner parties that focused on seven-course meals versus simple beer binges. Their specialty had become homemade pizza with extravagant recipes for the crust and a nice tangy sauce.

  They allowed everyone to add whatever ingredients they desired, making some interesting combinations.

  His older brother had not fared quite as well. He turned into an alcoholic, muddled his way through mediocre grades in school, and become an isolated social outcast. It wasn’t until a family reunion that he met his first cousin who was also a social recluse. They hit it off. She got him to stop drinking, and they eventually married. Granted, there were many in the family who frowned upon the union; but despite popular belief, there is no physical evidence proving it can be harmful to child-rearing.

  They now have two healthy, beautiful kids and are thriving in a small community in Florida. They don’t attend many extended family gatherings, but are well-balanced and making it work. To sum up, they are as well off as anyone can be.

  Jason had met his wife Sherene at Arizona State, where she was a walk-on for the tennis team and was quite active in school events. By college, Jason had stopped sports completely and focused mainly on his studies, but still enjoyed pickup games and continued his extravagant dietary experimentations.

  After meeting his wife, he took up tennis as an easy way to spend time with her and found he really had a knack for excelling in most all sports. He quickly became quite good. He began to realize at that point that things in general came easily to him. He studied and was focused, but he never had to try very hard to be better than average in almost anything he attempted.

  After making it through college with above-average grades, he moved up quickly in the FBI. He was now enjoying his current role in the limelight as one of the leads on The National Investigations Unit for the team headquartered out of the Bay Area. He was a master at picking out pieces and painting a picture long before anyone even knew to look in the direction of the canvas.

  It was as if the images formed in his mind, and he simply placed them in the appropriate order.

  His one failing was his devotion to his job, which now caused the failure of his marriage. As he reflected on his life, he could say this was his biggest disappointment. In the beginning things had been great, and it was no fault of Sherene’s that they were still not a unit. He just could not commit enough of his mental fortitude from his preoccupation with catching criminals.

  Neither of them had an affair or lost interest or fell out of love. It was just the lack of happiness from his not being home or, even when he was home, from his lack of being engaged that severed the ties that had bound them together. Sherene needed to be happy and have a working family unit, and he now knew that he was not able to be part of that.

  He didn’t really know his kids, was not a part of their lives, and had no knowledge of who they were although he loved them.. He was now drinking more than was healthy, but still not enough to cause concern. His little one-bedroom apartment was rented for the sole purpose of its proximity to his children. Sherene was still in the house his parents owned in trust, and he would put every effort in keeping her there until the kids were reared.

  Ironically, he was now spending more devoted time with them than he ever had before. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, or something like that. Being separated from his kids had made him appreciate them more. His time with them now, when his job allowed, had provided more real connection than at any other point in his life.

  Jason was not assigned to a case currently, but was consulting on a couple of active investigations--one in North Carolina and one in New Mexico. He took sporadic trips to discuss current findings; but other than a few guest speaking gigs at local colleges and some lectures at the FBI headquarters, he was not overly taxed. He was still decompressing from the last case that had taken more than six months to conclude and saw the end of seven lives. It was documented as being one of the more gruesome murder sprees on record and had left him and his team mentally exhausted.

  Even with the lack of anything directly requiring his attention, there were some issues that concerned him. One of which was the recent file his friend Sudhir had presented on a couple of missing girls that continued to tug at his mind. He didn’t think there was a connection between the two, but for some reason his instinct, as was Sudhir’s, was telling him otherwise. The two shootings seemed farfetched, having only the car linking the dots, but the two girls were more easily bridged. The only real problem was the vast difference in how they went missing and the oddity of timing. He felt comfortable letting Sudhir move forward for now; but if another girl went missing, he would get involved and raise the level of attention to his supervisor.

  Most of their cases actually start out just like this scenario. The local police happen along a murder or abduction, link a couple together, and the next thing you know call the FBI for some advice. The unit gets involved, relieves them of the burden, and takes over from there. Simplistic, really, but the police are almost always the first ones finding the pieces. How well they do their job determines, in almost all cases, how long it takes to get to the end result.

  Sudhir was surprisingly good at picking up on the normally missed details. He probably had untapped talent glossed over by his over-use of alcohol and his submissive nature—beaten down by his wife for so many years. Jason really liked Sudhir a lot, and in another life with more time to devote to developing relationships, Jason felt they would have been close friends.

  Ironically, time was the one thing he was not known for utilizing personally. It was only in the last month that he had even taken a vacation for well over three years. After the last case ended, his supervisor had insisted he leave for two weeks. Without the binding family ties, he had spent one week with his kids and one week alone in the Bahamas, basking in the sun and drinking way too much. He had even managed to get to know a couple of the locals.

  The main highlight from his trip had been on a sunny day as he was sitting on his balcony. It was right on the beach not more than 50 feet from the water’s edge. He observed his new neighbors. They were definitely European, and the man had to be in his late 40’s while the woman must have been in her very early 30’s. The age gap seemed to be 10 years or more.

  As is the European custom, she removed her top to expose a nice pair of firm, tanned breasts that were definitely real and held an appealing, attractive enticement. He had sat on his balcony basking in the sun for a couple of hours enjoying the view, wondering how lives were different, depending on where you happen to be born.

  She had fallen asleep. Her head was tilted to the right, and her mouth appeared to be open just a tiny crack. She was not aware of the approaching dog. Dogs are prevalent in the area and, for whatever reason, seem to be more community owned. All are very nice in nature and usually docile because of the nonstop attention from the locals, as well as the frequent travelers.

  Still, as the dog approached her, he decided to give her a nice lick hello. The interesting part is it was on the nipple of her left breast. The lady stirred slightly, so taking that as acceptance, the dog licked some more. The startled lady opened her eyes, and with a scre
am from seeing the dog, jumped up, yelling something Jason could not understand. .

  It took all of his self-control not to burst out laughing, but he didn’t want her to know he had sat there and enjoyed the entire scene. The rebuked dog made his way down the beach; and the lady reluctantly resumed her position on the chair, but did not allow herself to recommence her slumbering comfort. The eyes remained open.

  The vacation had been a great reprieve from life and, as intended, drained some of the strain of personal issues and work-related problems. He can’t say that vacations always achieve success, but this one was well worth the payment and effort. Now as he was back and readjusting to life, he wanted to focus his efforts again on his natural talent and embrace his passion.

  Jason looked through the file. The one thing that Sudhir had not pursued out of all the items was the license plate. Jason knew that if you were smart you would be changing plates on your car, or better yet not using your car at all. The easy way to abduct someone would have been to take a taxi to the location, use her car to leave the scene, dump it later, and not expose your vehicle in any way.

  That meant that the abductor was not sophisticated, but smart. This led him to believe that this was only the beginning if this truly were a serial killer they were dealing with. As Jason always hoped, he wanted to be wrong.

  He ran through the database looking for reported license plates missing in the Bay Area to see if anyone had reported an issue. Most license plates thefts are not even reported. People simply get another sticker or apply for a replacement. The expense is minimal, and the effort of reporting an issue is more trouble than it is worth.

  Interestingly enough, there was an issue of a reported theft of a plate that began with KY in the Bay Area from a man in Redwood City. His report stated that he really did not know where or how the plate was removed. His front plate had been moved to the back of the car and his back plate containing the current sticker had been taken. He applied for a new sticker and plate and wanted to inform the authorities in case anyone used his plate in illegal activities.

  There was not a lot of follow-up, but Jason printed out the report and felt the familiar rumbling of concern that Sudhir also expressed when they last spoke. This meant premeditation, which was not a good sign that this was isolated. Jill was not somebody that connected with people that might abduct and kill her. The missing plate issue meant somebody had stalked and/or predefined her as a victim.

  Jason decided to spend the rest of the day going through the file in more detail. He was now thankful he had Sudhir make a copy of the police reports for him. He wished he had a copy of all the details, as he knew Sudhir had pursued other angles and possibly had notes and or items that would be useful.

  He went down to his supervisor’s office and laid out the paperwork, explaining the situation and asked for another opinion. While they both agreed on the potential possibilities, neither of them were convinced it made sense to get involved. Jason was urged to keep in contact with Sudhir and have him provide updates on any new findings, but for now that was all. With their relationship that would be easy to do.

  Jason gave Sudhir a call and left a message on the answering machine, detailing his discussion with his supervisor. He spent the rest of the next couple of days preparing for a guest speaking role on the last case they had successfully closed. It is common practice to slice up an activity and present it as learning material for everyone who wants to attend. Jason, as the lead, was normally asked to do the bulk of the material gathering and speaking.

  He actually enjoyed giving presentations and the back and forth questioning and answering that followed. Unlike many of his peers, who were as reclusive as he in their devotion to their job, he still enjoyed the varying opinions and questioning of decisions that often occurred. He kept his mind open to new ways of thinking, and some of his best approaches to cases had come from this.

  He often started out his talks saying he had to give credit to the very people in these audiences for his team’s success. He was only as good as the group and supporting cast that made up the entire FBI, and they were all one entity. The core of his current five-person squad had come from this environment. He had plucked them out and after informal conversations and observation asked them to join.

  His group makeup was an oddity in the FBI; but with his and their success, nobody questioned it. They allowed him to run as he saw fit. He often acknowledged his supervisor for forward thinking and navigating the red tape to allow him to focus on his job of catching criminals—the only thing in life that he was currently any good at.

  Preparing the Story for Hannah

  After I had properly disposed of the pieces that used to be Hannah, I now had a small pile of leftovers—what I deemed my three trophies or the skulls from my recent harem. This was not my total set of prizes, since I could not have the heads of the individuals I had shot in the alley. Nevertheless, I decided to build a shelf in my room and display them as one would his football or baseball accolades from decades ago.

  I had never been much of an active sports enthusiast although I did enjoy the spectator sport of watching others play. It was not that I lacked athletic ability; but I had never developed much as a youngster, having to work most days after school instead. My father never fully understood the need for extracurricular development when there was a calling for a drywall job or repairing a sewer. The generous quarter an hour he paid me made up for the loss in childhood, though. (That was sarcasm by the way for all of you dimwitted people out there reading my diary.)

  We had a leftover label maker from some art project the girls had used. After the shelf was properly installed and the trophies were in place, I labeled each one appropriately. I could only call the second one “Blonde Woman,” as I never knew her actual name. I would have to remember to look online and see if I could discover this at some point. It seemed impersonal not even to know the name of somebody who had played such a pivotal role in the historical life and times of Duncan.

  I left two open spots and labeled them “Man 1” and “Man 2” for the men in the alley. This reminded me of Thing 1 and Thing 2 from Dr. Seuss, and I suddenly felt connected to a kid’s short story. The men had no lasting effect on my psyche, but again they are now part of the story and played their intended role. From this point on, I would have to really focus on knowing the names in order to finish the display. It looked tacky otherwise. And who wants to display their accomplishments in a tacky way?

  I wondered in the grand scheme of taking lives how my five stood up against the great villains of all time. This was no Hiroshima, and that would never be compared to what I was doing; but in the end it had the same result and finality for everyone involved. I wondered how warped our history books truly are; and if we went to Japan, would it be labeled an atrocity versus a key event that brought the conclusion to a needless war. We vilified Germany and Japan, as well we should, for their gross disregard for lives; but were we any different, really?

  The men and women of that great city were not the cause of the aggression. In most cases they were simply following the misguided direction of the men in power who were forming public opinion and manipulating the masses in order to get what they needed. Germany as a nation was not bad and held many strong upstanding level-headed individuals. Sadly, in the end the majority had allowed unspeakable hatred to be leveled against people just for who they were and what ethnicity they called their own.

  I could never hate a group of people as a whole. En masse is meaningless as individuality keeps the world moving. People do horrible, unspeakable things; and, yes, individuals can sway groups to do the same. But in the end, judging somebody for their beliefs can never be viewed upon as right. I realize fully that my actions are wrong, and what I am doing is one of the worst things possible against my fellow man. Does it matter that I am doing it without prejudice? That has to give me something right.

  Anyway, I am losing myself in thought again. I closed up shop so to speak and p
repared the area for my imminent departure. Once on the road, I planned and rehearsed my answers for the questions that would come about Hannah and where she was. I felt most comfortable with simply stating I had not seen her this weekend; and although we had started dating, we had only been out a few times. I, by no means, knew her whereabouts on a daily basis.

  If she had told anyone where she was headed for the weekend, I would have to live with my story and say they must be mistaken. My only real loose end was my neighbor, Don, whom I had introduced to Hannah. If, by some chance, anyone ever questioned my story and followed up by talking to him, I would be in a corner. I didn’t really know how to get beyond this.

  I contemplated driving back to Twain Harte that night and, unfortunate as it would be, shooting Don as he walked his dog then head back home. I think the odds of a killing in Twain Harte of that nature would bring more attention than I needed. In the end, I decided to live with the first story and deny knowledge and hope that it ended there.

  I had disposed of Hannah’s cell phone and all of her clothes. After cleaning out the fireplace, I felt that, at a minimum, the remnants of my actions were safely tucked away in the trashcan outside. While Don did have a tendency to go through my discarded refuge, I doubt even he would sift through the ash and remains of a burnt-out fire. The likelihood of something valuable being left in there had to be slim.

  I made it home uneventfully and played with Delilah in the back yard for a while in utter awe of the dog’s ability to fetch a ball with such chaotic energy. How the dog ever managed to sleep was beyond me, as she never seemed to tire.

  I was surprised by my calmness and reflected on my first triumph with Jill a few months ago and how emotionally drained I had been. I no longer felt any remorse and had fully accepted what I had become. I had embraced my new outlook on life. I guess you might be able to say that the true definition of what I was now about was death.