[No Justice 01.0] No Justice

by Sean Platt

  Mike drove her to the Hilton and pulled up front. “You need anything, let me know.”

  “Thanks.” Mal opened her door.

  “Oh, one more thing.” He reached into his shirt pocket and fished out her bottle of lost pills.

  He met her eyes. Mal looked away as she took them.

  “Thank you,” she said, eager to flee his car.

  “Are these going to be a problem?”

  She finally met his gaze. “No. I just take them when the migraines get bad.”

  “You know I’ve got your back, right? That you can tell me anything?”

  “Yeah, I know, Mike.”

  “Okay, go get yourself some rest.”

  “Thanks,’’ she said, and got out of the car.

  **

  Mal lay under the covers, in her underwear, curtains drawn in a room that was dark, cold, and perfect for sleeping. But she couldn’t let go. She was clutching the bottle of pills, trying like hell not to take one, working to ignore their siren song:

  Come on; we’ll help you sleep.

  Just one.

  You deserve it. You helped save Jessi Price.

  One before bed doesn’t make you an addict.

  That’s it. Just one.

  We’ll taper off tomorrow. Maybe half of one tomorrow.

  But for today, one won’t hurt.

  She squeezed the bottle so tight it might have popped the lid if it didn’t have a child-proof cap.

  Just one, Mal. Come on.

  One won’t hurt.

  One will get rid of the headache.

  One will make you drift off. Nice and easy.

  Just. One.

  She hurled the bottle across the room, into the darkness.

  She sat up, her heart racing, her chest constricted.

  She had to do something, but what?

  She could go down to the bar and get drunk, but she didn’t have the energy to get dressed. Nor did she have a change of clothes. The last thing she needed was to go downstairs and get recognized with some other drunk asshole wanting to ask her about Jessi Price. Being the mother of a child killed in a high profile case was like being an unfortunate celebrity.

  She could hire a bodyguard, but that would probably make things worse, especially now that she was going back on the job.

  Mal needed to do something to move her mind from the pills.

  She reached for her phone and checked her messages again.

  There were several from Ray. She’d called him before going into the bunker — probably scared the hell out of him with the way she was talking.

  She pressed play and listened. The first few were frantic, begging Mal not to put herself in danger. One even sounded like he was crying.

  So helpless and afraid for her.

  Then came today’s messages. Ray sounded better, happier, more himself.

  “Hi, Mal. Just wanted to see how you’re doing. Saw that you got Jessi back. Congratulations. Please call me when you get this.”

  “Hey, Mal. Went by your house just to see if you needed anything. Saw a bunch of news vans and stuff. Let me know if you need anything, or even a place to stay.”

  She laughed. What, you’re going to let me stay with you and Julie? Yeah, that won’t be awkward!

  Mal looked at the time and figured he was probably at work, maybe at lunch.

  She wasn’t sure if it was a good time to call. The conversation would surely head into serious waters. He’d want to ask questions about the man who murdered their daughter. He’d probably want to know exactly what Paul Dodd had done. It wasn’t the kind of conversation you had with someone at work.

  But she needed to talk to someone, and sadly had no one else. Her friends had all drifted away after Ashley’s murder. Or, if she were honest, she pushed them away. In any event, the only people she had in her life any more were her partner and Ray. And if she didn’t talk to one of them now, she would be giving in to the pills.

  She called.

  After three rings he answered. “Mal?”

  “Yep,” she said, awkwardly, not knowing what to say next. Sure, she wanted to talk, but after being estranged for so long, it’s hard to get the conversation rolling in a way that isn’t too self-conscious.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Were you serious about your offer?”

  “Which one?”

  Come on, don’t make me say it.

  “About going to the … meetings?” she whispered the last word.

  “Yes.”

  “What are you doing now?” she asked.

  “At lunch.”

  “I’m staying at the Hilton. Could you come over, just to talk?”

  “Anything you need,” he said.

  “Good, because right now I need a friend.”

  * * * *

  EPILOGUE

  One year ago…

  Jasper watched the interview with former detective Mallory Black, feeling like someone had ripped out his heart. Jordyn sat beside him on the couch, cross-legged, clutching a pillow, her eyes rimmed with tears.

  The interview was part of a package which included a segment updating the audience on all the awful things that had happened to Ashley Black one year ago. The female reporter listed atrocities as the screen showed photos of the little girl during happier times, pictures with her parents, a video of her ninth birthday. Kids sang “Happy Birthday” in the background while the reporter said, “But she’d never see her tenth birthday.”

  The screen cut to blurred pics taken in a drainage ditch where they’d found Ashley’s body, mangled and nude.

  Then the reporter spent ten minutes asking Mallory about that day, what she felt after first realizing that Ashley was missing, how she felt after getting the call that her daughter’s body had been found.

  The reporter was obviously trying to get Mallory to cry on camera.

  But to her credit, she’d thus far managed to keep her composure.

  The reporter asked why Mallory left her job, but she deftly dodged the question, not assigning blame, and saying it was a mutual decision.

  But Jasper could read between the lines. She’d been forced out. He’d heard rumors that she’d screwed something up a few months ago, something big. But he didn’t know what. The same rumors said that Mallory was finally cracking under the stress of her crumbling life.

  “If there was anything you could say to the person who killed your daughter, what would that be?”

  Mallory looked at the camera, her eyes welling with tears, “I don’t know. I think I’d ask why? Why would you take such a sweet girl who never hurt anyone? Why would you do this to her?”

  The reporter tried another question, but Mallory stood and pulled the mic from her collar. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  And the interview was over.

  Jordyn wiped her eyes with her shirt sleeve. “That poor lady.”

  “We could’ve stopped all of this,” Jasper said.

  “What do you mean? You called her. You tried to warn her. She must not have gotten the message.”

  He didn’t want to tell her what he meant because that would mean telling Jordyn what he did at night to the bad people she told him about. Nor did he want her to feel bad that the only reason he couldn’t kill Ashley’s murderer was that she didn’t have a name for the man.

  Jordyn seemed to pick up on his thought. “You wish we knew who the killer was?”

  He nodded, meeting her eyes, to make sure she wasn’t taking it the wrong way.

  She didn’t seem to be. Her eyes were still wet from the interview, but she wasn’t freaking out or getting defensive.

  Jasper said, “Sometimes I wish your gift helped out more.”

  “You’re thinking about mom again, aren’t you?”

  He nodded, wiping his own eyes. “It just seems unfair. Someone or something wants you, wants us to know things ahead of time. So why not give us more to work with? Why not tell us Carissa had cancer?”

  Jordyn scooted
over and hugged her father as he fought his tears.

  He hugged her tightly, and she cried into his shoulder.

  Jordyn then pulled away, her eyes wide. “Maybe we can’t go back in time to save the girl, but we can save her mother.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you said we couldn’t ever do this ourselves, as it would put the spotlight on us, but you never said we couldn’t do it for someone else.”

  “What?”

  She told him.

  A brilliant, stupid idea.

  Given Jordyn’s nerves in doing anything that might out them, he was surprised she suggested it.

  * *

  Jasper sat in the bushes across the street, staring at the darkened home’s front yard.

  Not a single light was on. Nor was there a car in the driveway.

  “Is she here?” he whispered to Jordyn.

  “I think she’s sleeping.”

  “And you’re sure on the alarm code?”

  “Yes. I saw it in a dream months ago.”

  “And you’re just now telling me?”

  “Well, I didn’t think you planned on breaking into her house.”

  “Fair point.”

  He checked the street; nobody around.

  He pulled the mask over his face, stood, then made his way across the street to the front door. Picking the lock was simple.

  He went to the alarm panel and punched in Jordyn’s code.

  As he walked around Mallory’s living room, he could almost hear ghosts haunting the halls. In the dim night lights, he could make out framed photos of the family, taken when things were good. Mom, Dad, Ashley. There was a child-sized jacket hanging on a hook in the foyer, a fridge still plastered with primitive art, two settings at the small kitchen table in the back, one with a tiny plate and cup. The house was frozen at the moment before a monster would ruin it all.

  He scanned the kitchen counter searching for what Jordyn had said he’d find — Mallory’s purse.

  He opened it, searching for a very specific item. Fortunately, her purse was neat and orderly.

  Jasper found the lottery ticket with relative ease.

  She always bought her tickets at the same gas station a mile from home. And she always played the same numbers, her daughter’s birthdate along with hers and a few other favorites. Sometimes she would play a random number in addition to her own set.

  Jasper replaced Malory’s ticket with one he’d bought at the same gas station.

  It had her numbers, and another set — the one Jordyn said would win Saturday’s drawing.

  He closed the purse, then made his way out of the haunted house.

  No amount of money could ever bring Mallory’s daughter back, but it might buy her some freedom. She’d no longer have to work. Maybe she would sell her house and start over somewhere new.

  Jasper knew a thing or two about starting over.

  You couldn’t ever completely escape your past, but you could give it some distance. Find things to distract yourself. Bury yourself in new obsessions. And, sometimes, even forget for a while.

  But at night, when you were all alone, the ghosts always came back to remind you.

  THE END

  WANT MORE FROM THE NO JUSTICE SERIES?

  A SOCIAL MEDIA SERIAL KILLER

  Opening day of youth baseball, and a man steps onto the field, broadcasting on social media.

  He asks his audience a simple question: who to kill first?

  What happens next will shake Creek County to its core.

  HE’S ONLY JUST BEGUN

  Veiled by anonymity, the killer isn’t even close to done. He tells his audience to stay tuned for more.

  Detective Mallory Black and her partner, Mike Cortez, find themselves racing against time to unravel the secrets of a killer lurking in the shadows before he can strike again.

  But how do you find a killer cloaked in anonymity?

  ALL WILL BE REVEALED

  Meanwhile, vigilante Jasper Parish undertakes his most personal quest yet as he attempts to deliver justice to the people who destroyed his world.

  As his secrets come to light, his daughter begs him to stand down.

  Jasper doesn’t stand down for anyone, though.

  He’s on a path, and he refuses to back down.

  Because when you cross Jasper Parish, there is no escaping his vengeance.

  No Escape is the second book in the No Justice thriller series from bestselling authors Sean Platt and David Wright.

  Click here to get No Escape

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you first to my brother-in-law, Steve [REDACTED], a former homicide detective and now a private investigator who has always helped me with the murder/death/and kidnapping-related questions I just don’t want in my Google search history. Seriously, most of our conversations begin with me asking some outrageously bizarre thing, and him responding with, “Dude, what is WRONG with you?”

  Steve was also an immense help in understanding how a police officer would still be motivated to catch a vigilante, EVEN if the vigilante was only going after monsters who were really, really guilty!

  It would have been all too easy for me to have Mal and Jasper team up, which completely undermines the things that motivate Mal as a detective. Knowing WHY she would still pursue Jasper as a criminal helped us create an even more complex character in Mal going forth. A character that we’ve come to love.

  So, thank you, Steve, for your countless hours of helping me get police and criminal things as realistic as possible. And I promise I will only use these skills for writing, not going on my own one-man vigilante spree.

  Thank you also to Detective Adam Richardson, of http://www.writersdetective.com/ for taking the time to answer questions early on in No Justice’s development process.

  Thanks also to our readers who have been patient with us as we went full-on hermit mode and wrote the first three books in this series. We appreciate your patience, and we hope that No Justice made the wait worthwhile.

  Lastly, thank you to our wives for their incredible patience and giving us the time and space necessary to dream these worlds into being. We love you.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ORIGINS OF A SERIES

  There’s something kind of heroic about the lone wolf vigilante taking out bad guys. Okay, maybe “heroic” is the wrong word. But the vigilante is empowered in a way that police aren’t because police have to uphold The Law.

  Upholding The Law means that you have to obey it yourself. Which is probably why I’m not a cop; I’d be using the baton on people with twenty items in a Ten Items or Less lane at the supermarket.

  I kid, of course.

  But twenty-one items?

  Those fuckers are just asking for it.

  While police have to color within the lines when going after criminals, vigilantes are like toddlers armed with a giant box of 64 crayons, coloring waaaaay outside the lines.

  Outside the lines is where we find most of our fictional vigilantes.

  Whether it be The Punisher, or Dexter, or even Charles Bronson’s Death Wish character back in the eighties, these guys don’t care about the lines.

  And we love them all the more for it.

  Because we spend time with them in these stories we understand WHY they do what they do. And, despite their sometimes monstrous methods, we find ourselves basically rooting for a serial killer. To us, they’re not monsters. They’re bringing justice in an unjust world. They’re standing up for the weak or helpless.

  In other words, they’re being heroes.

  Or, I suppose anti-hero if you must.

  I’ve always wanted to write a book about just such a character. But it wasn’t enough just to write that character.

  I wanted to tell both sides of the story — the vigilante and the cop.

  Halfway through the first No Justice, I started to see a looming cat and mouse between Mal and Jasper which will take place in the series. And I felt a bit like I feel watc
hing Game of Thrones — conflicted. On the one hand, Jaime Lannister threw a kid out the window. On the other hand, he’s become such an awesome hero since.

  And on the one hand, I want Mal to catch every bad guy she sets her sights on. On the other, I don’t want Jasper to get caught.

  No Justice allows us to write in a world of grays, rather than black and white. And, if you’ve been reading Collective Inkwell books long enough, you’ll know that we LOVE painting in grays!

  THE PARANORMAL ANGLE AND THE TWIST

  If you’re one of those people that skip right to the end of a book and read the author’s note BEFORE reading the story, I URGE you to turn back now.

  This is your last chance.

  I’m not going to reveal the twist directly, but you can probably infer some things from what I’m going to write.

  When Sean and I first plotted out No Justice, the Jordyn twist wasn’t there. It wasn’t until after our first meetings, when I started fleshing out the narrative, that The Idea hit me.

  Oh, shit!

  We should TOTALLY do this!

  Yes, it’s kind of been done before. Even (kind of) by us in another story, but still, I didn’t care.

  I wanted to do it, anyway.

  The Twist added such an awesome, complex, mysterious element to Jasper’s story that I can’t even fathom No Justice without it. That twist will continue to play out over the series in ways I can’t yet explain.

  I will make one plea to you, Dear Reader: PLEASE don’t spoil The Twist in your review of the book. I know someone will probably go and do it, anyway, because trolls are gonna troll. But I’d love everyone to experience the story fresh, not even knowing The Twist is coming up.

  Now, even though you’ve read the book, and know The Twist, you might not REALLY know The Twist.