[No Justice 01.0] No Justice

by Sean Platt

  Gloria held her tight, then softly said, “I’m glad we didn’t lose you tonight.”

  Tears wanted to fall, but Mal refused to let them.

  Gloria pulled away and met Mal’s eyes again. Hers were wet as well.

  “I want to catch this fucker as badly as you do. But we need to do it right. There will be no shortage of high-priced lawyers wanting to take this case, land themselves some celebrity, get the book deals and all that bullshit. We can’t give them any ammunition to weaken the case. You got me?”

  Mal hated how right she was, but facts were facts, and this case just went from local news to national tabloid. Spotlights on the department would be supernova-bright. Even the best departments couldn’t stand up to that sort of scrutiny, that second-guessing and armchair coaching. Things were about to get chaotic. The FBI would surely be more involved. And as much as Mal hated the bench, she had no choice but to warm it.

  Mal nodded. “I’ve got you.”

  Gloria turned to Mike. “Why don’t you take her home.”

  **

  The first half of the drive was Mike talking about the SWAT members that died, and how he’d just been to a picnic with one of them, Lars, last weekend. The guy was about to have his first kid, and now he was dead.

  Mal said, “God I hope we catch this fucker. And I hope he resists. Please, Jesus, let him resist!”

  Mike laughed.

  Mike had never been one for excessive force. He was very by-the-books, enough to be an occasional pain in the ass to work with. To see him practically looking forward to physically punishing Dodd saddened Mal. Paul had made one of the nicest guys on the force want to hurt someone. Mal wondered if Mike wanted to go as far as she did, and put a bullet in the fucker’s head.

  She didn’t want to ask, nor offer up her bloodlust.

  These were the sorts of conversations that could come back in a courtroom to haunt them, cost them their careers, even land them behind bars if circumstances were just so.

  Best to say nothing.

  Laugh it off and let him vent.

  They drove in silence until Mike finally said, “So, what was it like?”

  “What was what like?”

  “Dying? And coming back? You see lights or anything?”

  “I don’t remember anything.”

  “Really? You didn’t see anything?”

  “Just darkness. One minute I was in that room, and the next I was looking up at your big ugly mug.”

  “Damn, girl. I guess you are going to Hell. Good thing I saved you. Still time to repent. You can come with us to church on Sunday.”

  Mal laughed. Mike was a devout Catholic, and they’d had numerous conversations about faith over the years. He always teased her about being an atheist, though she was less an atheist than an agnostic, and always enjoyed the banter.

  Mal smiled. “Thanks again for the rescue, though I’m not letting you save me from Hell. I’m looking forward to it. Gonna go down there and kick Satan’s ass.”

  “I bet you will. Shit, probably take over the place.”

  “Damn straight. And I’ll take all the Paul Dodds and make sure they’re in a special room where they can really get what they deserve.”

  “I like that.” Mike laughed. “You’d be an excellent devil.”

  A sly grin. “Enough to make you change teams?”

  “Don’t get carried away.”

  They drove in silence for a while longer, punctuated only by a few somber radio transmissions.

  As they pulled up to Mal’s, she said, “Thanks again.”

  She reached over and hugged him, squeezing him hard, then let go.

  His eyes were watering. “It was good having you back by my side. I’ve missed it.”

  “Me too,” she said, climbing out of the car.

  “You really should come back.”

  Mal smiled, then turned and headed toward her house.

  Halfway to her front door, she glanced across the street to see her assigned deputies sitting in their car. For the first time, she wasn’t annoyed by their presence. She waved at them, then at Mike as he pulled away.

  Finally, Mal unlocked the door and entered her empty house alone.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 41 - JASPER PRICE

  Jasper lay on the couch in his apartment’s darkened living room, bathed in the blues and whites of the television news, numb as he stared at defeat.

  Paul Dodd had escaped.

  His trap had killed three sheriff’s deputies and seriously injured two others.

  As far as anyone knew, he was on the run with Jessi Price.

  The girl’s final hours were ticking down. She was only alive so long as Paul needed her, so long as she wasn’t a burden.

  There was no way he could flee the country with her as his captive. No way he could legally cross the border into Canada or Mexico. His only option was to hole up somewhere.

  “You think he has a place already picked out?”

  Jordyn was sitting beside him on the couch, staring at the TV. “What?”

  “Sorry,” Jasper said, standing. He went to her bedroom and grabbed the blanket from her bed. By the time he returned to the couch, she was zonked out again.

  He covered her with the blanket, then leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.

  He was glad she’d stayed behind. Had she come inside, it might be her in a body bag on the news. Maybe both of them. This disaster only confirmed Jasper’s decision to cut her out of the vigilante business — at least the up close and personal stuff. He’d still use her visions, so long as he decided to continue, but even that felt tenuous.

  He could have easily died and left Jordyn an orphan. Yes, she was technically an adult, but she wasn’t ready to be on her own. Not to mention the hell of burying her father only a couple of years after her mother — that was more than any child should endure, and might just break her.

  He needed to free himself from this.

  But he couldn’t yet.

  Jasper stared at the Missing Child photo of Jessi Price flashing on-screen, remembering how helpless he felt when trying to warn Mallory Black that her child was in danger.

  He’d been afraid to go directly to her, scared to intervene. Either one would’ve put him in the crosshairs. The police would’ve wanted to know how he knew that Ashley Black was in danger. They would’ve assumed he was working with the kidnapper. What was his alternative? To tell them that his daughter was psychic?

  Even if he managed to convince them that it was true, the trouble wouldn’t have gone away. Shadowy men in dark suits would appear wanting to run tests on Jordyn.

  Soon, they’d both end up in some CIA black site, forced to help them find bad guys, eliminate threats, or whatever secret psychic warfare the government was up to. Jasper would’ve once thought that those secret projects were the stuff of conspiracy theorists, but now he knew that at least one person was truly psychic and had to consider that there were others as well.

  Whether they were somehow gifted, or chosen by Fate, as Jasper believed, the result was the same — people in positions of authority would use them to maintain their power.

  Jasper would rather rot in prison than see that happen to Jordyn. He’d confess to any number of crimes if it meant keeping her gift a secret.

  He stared at the photo of Jessi Price, wishing he could go back in time two years. He could have stopped Dodd before the man made his move. He could have trailed Ashley and waited for Paul to come get her.

  Sometimes life was less about what you did than what you didn’t.

  Had he stopped Paul then, so many lives would be different now.

  Ashley would still be alive.

  Mallory’s life wouldn’t have fallen apart.

  Jessi Price would be safe with her family.

  And three cops would be going home to their families tonight.

  If only he’d stopped the monster.

  He sat next to Jordyn, watching the news and hoping that somehow P
aul was caught and Jessi saved.

  He got up, went to his bedroom, picked up one of the burners, and dialed a number that he promised himself he’d never dial again.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 42 - MALLORY BLACK

  Mal lay in Ashley’s old bed, drifting off to the siren song of her opiates when her cell phone started to scream.

  She looked at the caller ID. The number was blocked.

  Her heart raced.

  What if it’s Dodd?

  “Hello?”

  And then a voice spoke, one she hadn’t heard in two years, yet hadn’t forgotten — the man who left the voicemail warning her of Ashley’s kidnapping.

  “Hello, Mallory.”

  “Paul?”

  “No. I’m not the man you’re looking for.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “Someone who’s sick of seeing bad people do awful things to good people.”

  He sounded tired, or maybe drunk.

  If he wasn’t Paul, he had to be connected somehow.

  She had to get him talking.

  “People like Paul Dodd?”

  Another laugh. “People like Paul Dodd.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “I know lots of people. It’s my job.”

  “How did you know my daughter was going to be taken?”

  “That’s also part of my job.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me more, give me a name? Something I could’ve done to save her?” Mal tried to bar the anger from her voice.

  “I didn’t know his name then. I do now.”

  “What else do you know?”

  “Not enough. I’m still looking.”

  “Who are you?”

  “A friend.”

  “Friends tell each other their names.”

  “You’d be surprised the secrets friends keep from one another,” he said with a slight chuckle. “Tell me, Mallory, do you think it’s ever okay to kill a bad guy?”

  “What are you asking?”

  “If you could go back in time and kill Paul Dodd before he killed your daughter, would you?”

  Mal wondered if this man was recording her. She wasn’t sure why he would be. It wasn’t as if he could use a recording against her. In Florida, you had to get permission before capturing someone’s audio communications.

  “Well? Would you do it?”

  “Yes. I’d do anything to get Ashley back.”

  “What about now?” he asked. “If he turned himself into you right this second, would you kill him?”

  “No, I’d arrest him.”

  “But you just said you’d kill him to save your daughter.”

  “I was assuming you meant that I’d somehow found where he was holding her. Then yes, I’d shoot him to save her. But if you’re asking if I could kill him right now, in cold blood, if he turned himself in? Then no.”

  “Even after all that he did to your daughter, and is now probably doing to Jessi Price, you still wouldn’t kill him? I’d think you’d want justice.”

  “It’s not my place to decide if he lives or dies. That’s up to a jury. Murdering him now, that wouldn’t be justice. And it wouldn’t bring my daughter back. It would make me no better than him.”

  “I think you’re lying, Mallory. Either to me or yourself. I think if you saw him right now, you could kill him quite easily. And you’d probably enjoy it.”

  And then he hung up.

  * * * *

  THURSDAY

  OCT. 19

  CHAPTER 43 - JASPER PARISH

  “Hey, wake up, old man. We’ve got work to do.”

  Jordyn gently shook him.

  Jasper opened his eyes, noticed the bright light spilling through the half-opened blinds.

  “What time is it?” He squinted, trying to make out the time on the cable box.

  “Nine. Rise and shine.”

  Jordyn was showered and dressed, seemingly ready to head out.

  “What work are you talking about?”

  “I had a thought.”

  Jasper sat up. He badly needed to piss, but that could wait. “Okay, I’m all ears.”

  “If Wes made Paul into the monster he is, what are the odds that they’re still in touch?”

  “Wes went to jail.”

  “Yeah, but that was what, twenty years ago, maybe more? How much you wanna bet that he’s out? And if so, what if Paul got in touch?”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He was trying to please the man, practically pimped his own sister out to the guy. He was pissed at Katie for ratting on them. I’m thinking that Paul probably had to testify with her and that he’s felt like shit about it ever since.”

  “So, what? You think he reached out to apologize?”

  She smiled. “That’s exactly what I think.”

  Jasper stood, told Jordyn to hold on, then went to the bathroom.

  He stood there pissing, careful not to get any on the seat or floor.

  The more he thought about Jordyn’s hypothesis, the more it made sense.

  He came out of the bathroom smiling. “Okay, let’s see if we can find this guy.”

  Less than fifteen minutes later they knew that Wes Richardson got a fifteen-year sentence, out in nine for good behavior. He was retired, living an hour north, fat off of real estate holdings that had gone into a blind trust during his lockup.

  Jordyn laughed. “Man, there are people doing weed with more time behind bars than this rapist.”

  Jasper shook his head.

  Jordyn stopped chewing on the end of her pen. “Okay, so we have a name and address. Do you think Paul went to his old mentor’s place?”

  “I doubt it. If Rachel told us about Wes, she probably told the detectives. Paul has to know that’d be a bad idea. But that doesn’t mean they haven’t talked before now.”

  “You think Wes knows where Paul Dodd is?”

  “Only one way to find out. You ready for a drive?”

  “Want me to be the getaway car?”

  “No, I might need your gifts on this one. If Wes refuses to talk. Maybe you’ll pick up on something.”

  “I knew you couldn’t do it without me.” Jordyn smiled and hit Jasper with her blanket.

  He smiled back, but their play was bittersweet. Jasper hoped he wasn’t putting Jordyn into danger — especially after trying to get her out of the vigilante business.

  “We’re done with this,” he said. “Soon as Jessi is safe.”

  Jordyn’s smile disappeared. She simply nodded.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 44 - MALLORY BLACK

  Again Mallory woke to a raging headache and her ringing phone.

  She rolled over in Ashley’s bed and grabbed her cell from the nightstand, part of her hoping it was her mystery man calling to finish last night’s cryptic conversation.

  But it was Mike.

  “Yeah?” she answered.

  “How would you feel about coming with me to an interview?”

  “Where’s Skippy?”

  “He woke up puking his guts out.”

  “He a drunk like me?”

  “Nah, probably too much Paco’s Tacos last night.”

  “So, who are we interviewing?”

  “Rachel Dodd. Ex-wife. Lives up in Bay Hill.”

  “You didn’t interview her last night?”

  “We brought her to the station while the victim’s advocate kept her daughter company, but I didn’t get much from her. She did confirm finding some stuff on his computer a few years ago and was worried that we were going to arrest her for not coming forward. Said she didn’t know if the stuff was illegal or fell into the whole “nudity as art” thing. Plus, she was scared of her husband. She demanded a divorce and got sole custody, and then he was out of the picture. She said she doesn’t know anything about him now. She consented to a search, but I don’t think we got anything worthwhile.”

  “Why do you want me to talk to her? You think she knows where Paul is?”

&
nbsp; “I don’t know. I mean she was upset, so maybe it’s that, but I felt like she was holding something back.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Just something.”

  “What makes you think I’ll get it out of her?”

  “Because you were always better at this than me.”

  “About time I got some recognition for my stellar people skills,” she joked. “So, Gloria’s okay with me interviewing her?”

  “I didn’t exactly tell her.”

  “Oh, shit. The Boy Scout is leaving the campground and his pack?”

  “It’s an informal interview. We don’t need to bring her in, we just sit down and talk at her house. She was skittish last night, especially given how her ex is all over TV. Plus, being at the station probably didn’t do much to relax her. Maybe we’ll have better luck in a calmer place, with you taking lead.”

  “Okay. Gimme twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  She hung up, then looked at the nightstand and the bottle of pills she’d managed to avoid opening all night. A minor but important victory, proving she could sleep without the pills.

  Now she was paying the price with a raging headache, and couldn’t imagine effectively interviewing someone in such a condition.

  Mal opened the bottle, palmed a single pill, then washed it down with some water.

  She put the bottle back in the nightstand, then went into the bathroom and showered.

  **

  They arrived just before 10:15 in the morning, but they weren’t the first. That honor belonged to the media vultures, staking claim to positions with Rachel Dodd’s home in the background while updating the masses that they would be “live from the suspected killer’s home.”

  Forget that Paul Dodd no longer lived there.

  Forget that his wife wanted nothing to do with him.