by Jon Mills
“And who might you be?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“If you are going to kill me, why do you care if I know?”
Jack continued to stare as he got closer to the edge of the pool.
“I would think you’d be more interested in who sent me,” Jack muttered.
He shook his head. “No. There are many who want me dead. But I’m intrigued by you.”
“Why?”
“Because you and I share a similar taste, if I might phrase it that way.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so. Sadism isn’t in my nature.”
Hanns reached the edge of the pool and began treading water. He placed his arms on the lip, acting all calm and collected as if he had resigned to his fate.
“No? Then what are you waiting for?” Hanns asked. “Every second you leave me alive, are you not extending my agony? Is that not the definition of sadism? Deriving pleasure from inflicting pain, suffering, and humiliation on others?”
“Unlike you, I don’t kill for pleasure.”
He snorted as if finding something in Jack’s reply amusing. “Are you sure about that?”
Jack studied him. He wasn’t sure why he was even having the conversation. One bullet and it would be over. Did this lunatic honestly think they were the same? In his time in the New York mob, he had lost count of those he’d been sent to murder. Faces blurred, names meant nothing. It was all about taking care of business.
Hanns glanced at the phone in Jack’s hand.
“How much are they paying you? I will triple it. Come work for me.”
Jack rose from his seat and he offered back a thin smile.
“It’s not about the money.”
“No? Then I was right. You derive pleasure from each kill or you wouldn’t be here, taking risks that your client won’t.”
Jack narrowed his eyes. “We’re not the same.”
“Oh, dig deep, I think you’ll find we are.”
Jack gritted his teeth. He had a good mind to drag him out of that pool and strangle him, just so he could extend his suffering. But it would only prove his point. Jack glared at him. The thought of being compared to this monster only pissed him off. Although he killed for a living, he wasn’t a Nazi war criminal. He hadn’t performed experiments, tortured women, killed kids or injected dye into the eyes of the Jews. Neither had he killed for the fun of it. It was always about business. What he did now was about justice, righting wrongs, doing what others wouldn’t or couldn’t.
“You know it’s true.”
He didn’t need to justify his actions, especially to a man like this.
Hanns turned his back on purpose and slowly drifted through the water waiting for the round that would end him. Jack raised the Glock and fired two shots without hesitation. Hanns’s body went limp, and the water surrounding his head turned a light red. He waited there a few more seconds to see him sink before turning to leave. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the comparison to Hanns or the knowledge that what he’d done today would never atone for his own past transgressions.
Chapter 1
Most of the seven hundred seats in the San Francisco State University auditorium were full. Dana Grant brought a bottle of water up to her lips as neuroscientist Ray Hall gave a talk on exploring the mind of a killer.
“What makes a person a psychopath? And what determines the difference between them and us? Are they hard-wired to kill or nothing more than a product of their environment?” He slowly walked the full length of the stage, occasionally pressing the button on a remote to bring up a new image on the massive screen behind him. “Or can brain scans and a genetic study reveal something more? These are some of the things I want you to think about as we consider these questions.”
Dana shuffled in her seat trying to get comfortable. She was there on assignment as a blogger for the San Francisco Chronicle. So much had changed since leaving Rockland Cove three years ago. They’d moved around but had eventually settled on the West Coast because of her sister who lived nearby. Jason was now studying criminal justice with the aim of becoming a police officer, and she’d landed a good position with one of the leading newspapers in the city. Although she was pleased to see her son excelling, she wasn’t sure he’d given enough thought to what he wanted to do, still, it was a refreshing change from the old Jason that had a history of falling in with the wrong crowd. In many ways, things were beginning to look up — a new city, a new job and the prospects of having a good life beyond a sordid past.
“Now what do I mean by a psychopath? Well, I’m referring to the likes of these kinds of individuals.” An image appeared on the screen with the faces and names of different serial killers: David Berkowitz, aka the Son of Sam, Ed Gein, Charles Manson, Aileen Wuornos, Ted Bundy, Albert Fish, Jeffery Dahmer and John Gacy. “So what are we looking at here? Well, it’s important to understand that when I go through an analysis of a brain I’m dealing with a number of factors. I start by going through the process of looking at the interaction of three key areas — genes, brain damage and the influence of environment — and how these might contribute to making one person different from another. Now the type of psychopath we can end up with depends on when the damage happens. And what we have discovered is that all murderers have some form of damage to the frontal lobes in the brain. Now this wasn’t the same for everyone but it gave us a pattern to work with.”
She pecked away at her keyboard, taking notes and adding ideas for the article she would later develop. She was fascinated by the concept of how people could become different to others through their environment and a mixture of elements. Her boss and editor-in-chief, Roger Johnson, had fought her on attending the event, stating that she didn’t have the background or life experience to produce anything that would capture their readers. In reality what he was saying was she couldn’t do it. What he didn’t know was that she had firsthand experience from her time with Jack Winchester. Of course she didn’t consider him a psychopath but some would disagree.
As she listened to the speaker drone on and throw out fancy words and attempt to make connections, her mind drifted back to the first time she met Jack, and the unique set of circumstances that surrounded their lives crossing paths. But more specifically what had occurred since they parted ways.
She’d often thought about him, and she would have been lying to say she didn’t miss the way he looked at her. There was something interesting buried beneath his hard exterior. Many questions had plagued her for a long time. Was she the only one he’d opened up to? Had she made the right choice in walking away? Where was he now? Though doubt had crept in at times, she knew that leaving him was for the best. As much as she had fallen for Jack, she had her son to think about. They’d already suffered enough with her ex-husband, and the lies he’d told. She couldn’t deal with it again and she knew as long as Jack was alive, anyone close to him was a target.
Dana glanced up and took another swig of her drink. She gazed at the names of murderers. He wasn’t like them. No, they killed for pleasure; his was business, wasn’t it? She shook her head and returned to taking notes. A text came in from Roger to ask how it was going.
“You getting what you want?”
“Yeah, it’s going well.”
“Say, are you free tonight?”
She groaned and didn’t reply. He’d been pining to take her for a meal ever since she’d stepped foot in the door, she often wondered if that was the reason she got the job. The strange thing was he wasn’t bad looking and perhaps she might have said yes if it wasn’t for his clear disdain for women being smarter than him.
She shot back a message. “Sorry, can’t do it, I said I would have dinner with Jason’s new girlfriend.”
It was a partial lie. Jason had a new girl in his life, but the part about having dinner, well that wasn’t true but fortunately he bought it hook, line and sinker.
“Maybe next weekend?”
He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and he obviously di
dn’t seem put off by the number of excuses. Oh she knew what he wanted. Men were all the same. One dinner date and they were ready to jump in her pants. And if they didn’t get it, well they were a nightmare. Then there was Jack. She shook her head, thinking about her first date with him. His reluctance at first made her question whether he was married or batting for the other team. Those fears were soon put to rest after a night with him. She smiled at the craziness of it all.
Dana stared at the next text from Roger and ignored it.
Ray Hall continued, “Now I want to draw your attention to the violence gene known as MAOA. As shocking as it might sound there is a variant of this gene that is in the general population. In fact some of you in this auditorium have this. This gene is comprised of variants in the X chromosome. Which means you can only get this from your mother. This is why we see more aggression in men than in women because even though a daughter can get an X from the father and one from the mother, it tends to cancel each other out, but for sons, they can only get this from the mother. So how does this impact their behavior? Well it’s the gene that produces an enzyme that affects dopamine, norepinephrine and serotonin. Now as you may know, usually serotonin tends to make a person feel calm, however, if you have this MAOA gene as a fetus, essentially you are immersed in this so that your brain becomes less responsive to serotonin. This means it wouldn’t have the same effect as it would on someone else later in life.”
He breathed in deeply and changed the image on the screen. Dana listened intently. Although she was hoping to write an article that would impact the readers, if she was honest, she was looking to understand what made Jack tick, and if anything from his past had affected the way he was, and… well, if there was hope that his future could be any different. She knew she wouldn’t be part of that future, hell, she hadn’t heard from him since the whole incident with that FBI agent trying to track him down. Who knew where he was now? The last time she spoke with the agent, she said he’d had connections with a mission down on Skid Row. What he was involved in down there was anyone’s guess. All she knew was trouble followed him. He was like a magnet for problems.
She tuned back into what Ray was saying. “To understand how this gene is expressed at an early age, we looked at those who were exposed to high stress, and violence before puberty. What we discovered was that those involved in a traumatic experience, and by traumatic, I mean extreme violence against them or involvement in something extremely violent. And what we discovered was profound. It was these individuals that were more liable to convey the behaviors which most of us wouldn’t.”
Several people stuck up their hands and Ray asked them politely to wait until the end when they would have time to ask a question. Dana took down many notes as Ray continued to talk about the impact this gene would have on those in constant states of violence — more specifically kids in the Middle East, kids surrounded by war and human atrocities. She couldn’t help wonder what effect this might have had on Jack. Here was someone who had been exposed to death at an early age through his association with the mob. Someone who had grown up in a family where excessive beating was the norm. It had to have affected him.
Once the lecture came to a close, he opened it up for people to ask questions. Most of the answers he gave went straight over her head. It was stuff only a neuroscientist would understand. She refrained from her question until she had a chance to meet him.
As Ray was drawing to a close, a middle-aged man in the audience posed a question.
“I noticed you didn’t have the Zodiac Killer on your list. Any reason?”
Ray squinted trying to see who was asking the question. Certain areas of the auditorium weren’t lit up enough, causing portions to be cloaked in darkness. Several people around Dana turned to get a glimpse of who was asking.
“No particular reason. There just wasn’t enough space to include everyone.”
He shot back. “But don’t you think out of all those that you listed, he would have been a more interesting candidate to study?”
“He was never caught, so it would be hard to study his brain.”
“So would you consider his murders free will or do you think he was hard-wired to kill?” the man quickly added, trying to keep the focus on him alone and prevent anyone else from asking a question.
“Perhaps it was both,” Ray shot back.
Dana turned and saw someone shuffle out of a seat, his back was turned. After that question the event was wrapped up and everyone was invited to meet Ray outside where they would have the chance to purchase a signed copy of Ray’s latest book.
Students and media streamed out of the aisles, chatting among themselves.
She waited until her row had cleared out before gathering her laptop and handbag and squeezing out. The talk had got her mind buzzing and making connections yet it was missing something — that human element that would take the article from being a run-of-the-mill piece on psychology to being the most shared online article that month. That’s what it all came down to. Gone were the days of being praised for having a column that caught the attention of readers and boosted subscriptions. It was all about hits, likes, shares and making content go viral. Newspapers, even one of the best in San Francisco, were going the way of the dinosaur. More people were logging on to get their news than subscribing to a daily paper.
When Dana finally made her way to the front with his book in hand, Ray greeted her with a smile and asked who to make it out to. She had him make it out to Jason, thinking it would make a nice surprise gift. Like his mother he was into what made people tick. His brush with the law in New York had sparked a desire to study and understand why people did what they did.
Ray signed it, handed it back and shook her hand.
“Mr. Hall, I work for the San Francisco Chronicle. I’m writing a piece on the criminal mind and well, even though you covered a lot today that will be helpful, I wondered if you might answer one question?”
He clasped his hands together in front of him. “Certainly.”
“You spoke about how this gene might affect someone, and the types of people affected but you never mentioned if there was a way to change it.”
“Gene manipulation? That’s a big topic and not something I could cover in a short space of time.”
“Right. No, I meant, do you think someone can change who they are simply by choosing to leave behind their past?”
“Possibly. Except that’s leaning towards free will being the deciding factor in who a person becomes, and I don’t think it’s as easy as that…”
He fished for her name and she gave it.
“Ms. Grant.”
“Grant. Right.” He smiled, then eyed the next person in line as if to indicate his time was limited. Dana thanked him and moved along, heading towards the door, her head full of more questions than when she entered. She’d made it to her car and was juggling the keys when the phone call came in from Roger. At first she was going to ignore it but decided she better answer it. He was either going to give her heck about something work related or invite himself for dinner.
It was neither.
“Dana, have you seen the news?”
“No, why?”
“How fast can you get back here?”
She caught an edge in his voice.
“What is it, Roger?”
“Just head over here.”
“Okay, I’m on my way.”
Chapter 2
The siren wailed loudly as Detective Nina Hudson and Michael Romero made their way to Lake Merced Boulevard. Traffic was a nightmare in the mornings. The city had seen a surge in tourists over the past few years. Everyone wanting to ride the cable cars, see the Golden Gate and take in a tour of Alcatraz Penitentiary. It was a real circus.
“You know for once I would like to have a day when all I do is visit schools and talk about how great it is to be a cop, instead of be a pinball, bouncing back and forth all over this city. I’ve barely had time to breathe,” Romero said before taking
a sip of his coffee, then grimacing. “God, this tastes like crap, I’m telling you, Hudson, we need to find a new café. They don’t make coffee like they used to. Since that new owner took over, I swear they are just serving up yesterday’s brew. It’s bitter as hell.”
“Bring your own.”
“Do I look like a barista?”
He brought the window down and tossed his cup out the window.
“You know that’s littering.”
“So is leaving dead bodies out in the open, but we all got to earn a living.”
They’d been working together for the past four years after her last partner was shot in an armed robbery. It had taken her the better part of a year to get over that. Fifteen years on the job and it didn’t get any easier. As they got closer to the parking lot of an area called the Pull-Up Bars, she could already see the media. Officers on scene had cordoned off the area with yellow tape, and there were several black-and-whites blocking off access. It was a huge lot, used often by tourists and locals due to its proximity to Lake Merced Park and the lake. Located on the east side of the city, the freshwater lake was popular for fishing and boating, along with several walking trails that encircled the large body of water.
She veered into a spot, and took a deep breath, preparing to face the media frenzy of cameras and lights. It never changed.
“I feel like a rock star,” Romero said, adjusting his tie, and aviator sunglasses. “How do I look?”
She swiveled in the driver’s seat. “Is that a new suit?”
He replied without even glancing at her. He had the visor down and was running his hands over his designer stubble. “Armani. It cost me several thousand.”
“Romero, what I did I tell you about wasting your money?”
“It’s not a waste. You know how many comments I’ve had since I upped my game? The ladies love it. My inbox is overflowing with requests.”
“No wonder you never reply to mine.”
“Hey! I reject that. I get back to you, I just do it in my own time.”
