by John Foxjohn
No one said anything when David asked for suggestions.
As night fell, Joe and the NPD detectives left, but there wasn’t anything for them to do anyway. David rubbed his gritty eyes. All the agents took turns watching the apartment in two-hour shifts.
When John relieved him, he paced the house, trying to think of how to get her out of there.
Melissa handed David a steaming cup of coffee. He released an ecstatic groan when he sipped the brew.
He sat on the sofa and motioned for her to join him. “You have any ideas?”
Melissa closed her eyes a moment. “Not any good ones.”
David leaned back and sipped again, and set the cup on a coaster on the table. “I asked if you had any ideas. I didn’t say they had to be good ones.”
Melissa sipped her coffee and leaned forward. “I think we need to somehow get her to a place we want her. Not wait until she moves and follow. She might spot us. We won’t have control over the scene because she is choosing the time and place.”
Andy, barefooted, with rumpled hair, meandered into the room, saw the coffee David and Melissa sipped, groaned, and headed for the kitchen. David smiled at the agent’s expression. Andy and Melvin were exchanging physical appearances. Melvin now kept his hair combed and looked professional. Andy, at least at that moment, looked like a hobo.
When Andy came back, he asked what was going on.
“David wants some ideas of what to do.”
Andy set his cup down and rubbed sleep out of his eyes. “I don’t have any good ones.”
Melissa chuckled as David rolled his eyes.
Andy frowned, looking from one to the other. “What’s funny about that?”
“That’s the exact thing I said,” Melissa told him. “He said he wanted ideas. Didn’t say good ones.”
Melissa told Andy what she’d said as David stared out the window—not talking. David stood and jammed his hands into his pockets. After several minutes, he reached down, picked up his cup, and trudged into the kitchen.
When he returned, both agents stopped talking. “David, why do you think Melanie Milam stayed here for this long a time instead of running?” Melissa asked.
He sat. “Good question and I don’t have the answer.”
“Me either, but I have a guess,” Melissa said.
“What?”
“I think she lacks an essential ingredient to run—money.”
A grin broke out on David’s face. “You know, I bet you’re right, and if you are, I know how to get her.”
* * * *
Melanie Milam eased the door of the apartment open, looked around, and with the keys to the truck, hurried to the vehicle. She breathed a relieved sigh when she turned right on Pearl Street. Keeping an eye on the rear view mirror with no traffic behind her, she continued south. When a car pulled out of a side street behind her, she slowed, but two blocks later, the car turned off. She pulled into a parking lot and watched for several minutes, but no other traffic came along. Minutes passed and she didn’t move. A couple of vehicles passed, but kept going.
When she pulled out, she knew no one followed her. There was no way they could have found her anyway. If they’d found the body, they would have put it on TV.
Bored to death staying in the apartment, she was glad to get out.
She turned into the bank parking lot on Main Street. She knew it well—she’d shot at Mason, but missed, killing the agent that pushed him out of the way. That was another one of her mistakes. After following him, she decided to shoot him. Her rash decision could have cost her.
The dead agent must have been a good friend to Mason to die for him. She’d never had a good friend like that. No one would die for her, not even her parents. Justin loved her, she knew, but not that much. A tear trickled down her cheek. Would she ever find someone who loved her that much?
She wiped her eyes, turning in the seat, watching as people entered and left the bank. Several minutes passed and she kept a clear vigil on all of them. She knew three of the agents and they would stand out like a sore thumb, especially the redheaded woman. She was the type no one could miss.
When she eased the truck door closed, she cautioned herself to stroll as if she only needed to do bank business and didn’t need to hurry.
Since she had never been in the bank before, she stopped inside and looked around. Eight teller windows stood on the left side, offices lining the walls on the back and right wall.
Alert for anyone out of place, her gaze swept around the building. She smiled when she saw the receptionist who sat behind a desk in the center of the room, but close to the teller windows. The receptionist sat hunched, silver hair in a bun, and should’ve retired twenty years before. She didn’t understand why they let someone her age work there.
With her best smile, she strolled to the old woman’s desk. “I’m Patsy Lawson.”
The old woman didn’t look up, but in a casket voice, said, “Yes?”
“My husband had some money wired to this bank and sent me to pick it up.”
After clearing her throat a couple of times, the old woman nodded and searched through the papers on her desk. Melanie rolled her eyes. She sure hoped the old woman didn’t have a heart attack and die. They’d have to call an ambulance and she knew the police always responded to ambulance calls.
“Here it is, dear. Five thousand dollars.” With a trembling hand, the receptionist handed her a bank envelope.
She spun and strode toward the exit.
“Dearie. Dearie.”
Melanie turned and the old lady hobbled toward her, holding a piece of paper, waving it as high as she could reach.
“Need you to sign.”
Disgusted with herself, Melanie shook her head. She should have thought of that. Banks made people sign for everything. Not wanting to draw unwanted attention, Melanie took the paper and pen. She turned, placing the paper on the wall. Her right hand held the pen.
Something struck her behind the knee and she fell forward. Her head hit the wall. Dark spots swirled before her, and she had a sensation of falling.
Her face struck the carpet. Stunned, her arms jerked up behind her, and metal bit into her wrists. Clicking sounds made the cold metal bite deeper, and she cried out in pain.
As her vision cleared, she rolled her head sideways. The old woman knelt with a knee in her back. How did that old woman do that to her? Why did she do it?
Someone knelt in front of her and she jerked her head around. Hate clouded her face as Mason put his fingers under her chin, raising her head.
“Never in my life have I attended an execution at Huntsville. You will be the exception. No matter when it is, or what I am doing, I’ll be there when they put you to death.”
* * * *
Hours later, with the arguments still hot and heavy between Nacogdoches and Angelina County on who got first dibs on Melanie Milam, David and the other agents left the Nacogdoches County jail. David never bothered to argue. He knew they didn’t have federal jurisdiction, and didn’t see a need to argue, anyway. Angelina County would win and should. The murder of a law enforcement officer took precedence over other crimes.
David called Beth first to tell her everything was over. They talked for a few minutes, but he could tell something was wrong. At last, he asked her. She hesitated and silence lingered like smoke in damp air. He tried, but she would only say they needed to sit down for a serious discussion.
He called Beeker and the assistant director told him to give his team a week off and meet him at his office in seven days at two in the afternoon. He called Beth back and told her he’d be in Houston in a few hours.
Melissa, minus the wig and make up, stopped at the car and turned to David. “I’m going home to visit with my parents. See if we can get things straight.”
David nodded but didn’t say anything. Melissa rested her hand on his shoulder. “Beth loves you more than anything. I promise everything is okay.”
They hugged and he shook hand
s with Andy and John, but Melvin refused his hand and hugged David. Not knowing what to do and hating these male hugs, at last, David patted the agent on the back.
When they separated, David stood back and pointed at Melvin. “I don’t know what the bureau is going to do, but if they split us up, and I have any say at all, you will be assigned as a field agent.”
With glistening eyes, Melvin nodded.
David sat in his car, closed the door, and rolled the window down. “I’m heading to the motel, packing and heading to Houston as fast as I can. I’ll see y’all in a week.” He reached out and put his hand on Melissa’s. “I promise you one thing, too. Everything will be okay with your parents.”
David drove off leaving Melissa with her mouth hanging open. How could he know that? David had never met or talked to her parents.
* * * *
Worried to death about Beth, David spent ten minutes packing. He didn’t bother to hang his suits up—stuffed them in the suitcase and sped south on Highway 59. Two hours later, he rushed up the sidewalk to Sheree’s house. Beth opened the door with tears in her eyes. After they embraced, he caught her hands and led her to the sofa. “Beth—what’s the matter? What have I done?”
Large drops leaked out the corner of her eyes and down her cheeks. She dropped her head, and David lifted her chin. “What’s wrong?”
“Darling—I’m—I’m pregnant.”
He fell back against the sofa, every bit of energy drained from his body. He had never been this relieved in his life. As Beth cried harder, he struggled to get words out of his throat. “Is that all?” he managed.
“Ye—s.
“You scared the crap out of me. I thought something was wrong.”
When Beth cried harder, he didn’t know what to do. He pulled her to him, holding her, wondering why she thought having a baby would upset him.
When she stopped crying, she told him she knew he had wanted to wait to have children and she thought he would be upset. His excitement about the baby transferred to her and before long, they were negotiating names for a boy and girl.
* * * *
Melissa’s plane arrived in Buffalo at six in the evening. After retrieving her luggage and renting a car, she drove toward home—her stomach churning. Men, guns, and even death didn’t frighten her as much as this trip.
Somehow, for her own peace of mind, she needed either to reconcile with her parents or settle that she couldn’t salvage the relationship. She wanted to save it, needed to save it. She wanted to pull into the driveway—have her parents welcome her home. She wanted them to accept her career choice. It was her life to live and she wanted them to let her live it.
Why couldn’t they do that? They had for her brothers. She didn’t understand why being born a female made her different.
Instead of pulling into the driveway, she parked on the street, across from their house. That way, if she decided to leave, they would never know she came by. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the steering wheel.
With the career she’d dreamed about, worked for all her life, Melissa had beaten the odds, but without her parents’ support, she had a hollow victory. As tears dripped down her cheeks, she eased the door open, and with faltering steps, approached the front door.
Both hands at her side, she stood, staring at the doorbell, unable to push it. All her life, before she joined the bureau, she had never rung the doorbell to her home. Now, she could not open the door and walk in. It wasn’t her home anymore.
With her head down, she almost jumped out of her skin when someone called her name from behind her. She spun around to face her astonished mother.
She had arrived at the house, but wasn’t ready to face her mother. All the words she’d practiced failed her, and all she could get out of her impeded throat was, “Mom.”
To her surprise, her mother flung herself toward her and engulfed her, crying. Without thinking, Melissa’s arms encircled her mother—the woman who had given her life, then took part of it away, and in one single action, returned it.
Hours later, Melissa sat with her parents, drinking coffee. She had come home.
Melissa’s mother, fiddling with her cup, looked up at her daughter. “David Mason is special, isn’t he?”
Eyes wide, Melissa couldn’t say anything for a long moment. David’s last words before he drove off flooded her consciousness. “How—do—you know about David?”
“He called me about a week ago and we talked on the phone for a couple of hours. I’d really like to talk to that man in person.”
Melissa forced a tight smile. “You can’t possibly want to talk to him in person more than I do.”
* * * *
Epilogue
Washington, D.C.
September 7, 1995
Eleven years after the trial of Melanie Milam and her death sentence, David Mason sat behind his desk in his lavish office, on the fourth floor of the Hoover building. Unlike Milam, who sat on Texas death row, exhausting appeals, David’s life and career had flourished.
Before Beth, he had never thought a woman could keep his desires and love for an extended period, but time had increased their relationship, not diminished it.
As his personal life soared, so did his career. The bureau had kept the team in place, but in Washington, not Houston. Investigating serial killers across the country, David became one of the most celebrated agents in U.S. history. Considered one of the world’s utmost authorities on serial killers, countries around the world sought David’s knowledge.
Along with David, the other members of the team excelled. Andy went on to head the San Francisco office. As time passed, John decided he didn’t like field duty and came back to Washington. He eventually headed a new department designed for his specialty, business investigations.
Melvin had the most trouble. The bureau didn’t want to let him escape his genius with computers. Years before, David had made the agent a promise. As always, he kept that promise. He told Beeker that Melvin would remain a field agent or David would resign.
The bureau could find other computer specialists, but didn’t believe they could replace David. Besides, following his hero’s examples and teaching, Melvin turned himself into a tremendous agent. So much so, the bureau later removed him from the team, sending him to Houston to become the assistant agent in charge of the biggest field office in the U.S.
No longer considered a female trying to horn in on a man’s world, Melissa commanded respect throughout the law enforcement community. Like David, her stock rose in the bureau, leaving her with her choice of assignments. She turned down the San Francisco job before they gave it to Andy, and turned down the Houston job given to Melvin.
Other promotional opportunities arose, but she turned them all down. She didn’t want to sit behind a desk—loved her job and working with David.
After a week with her parents, she’d sat down with David and Beth and taking her mother’s advice, admitted she loved him, but it would never go any further than that.
Good friends before with mutual respect, their friendship grew to a special bond that most people would never experience. They had differences in opinions over the years. David won a few, but conceded to Melissa in most of them. Years before, he had looked past her sex and saw an intelligent person with the potential to be a great agent. He had never been more right about anyone in his life.
Now, he sat and sipped his coffee. He re-read the fax he’d just received, and sat it down on his spotless desk. Melissa’s eight by ten picture occupied the left hand corner of his desk. He picked up the other one, a family picture with Beth, ten year old Justin Henry Mason, eight year old Sarah Beth Mason, and David.
All his life, he’d lived under one unfaltering premise, if he promised something he kept that promise.
He reached for the phone and called Beth, then the airlines. Four hours later, he landed in Houston, rented a car and traveled the hour and half to Huntsville, Texas.
With the prison warden, he
stood outside a one-way mirrored room. Melanie Milam had changed over the last eleven years. Unlike the time when he had set her up by calling her—convincing her that the bank had money waiting for the man she killed. He thought it poetic justice that he had Melissa in disguise to capture her. He would not have recognized her on the street. Prison and death row had changed her, this time not a disguise.
He’d promised her he’d watch her die, and she had reached her last appeal—the governor would not stop the execution. At 6 PM she would die.
He’d asked the warden to let him speak to her. He wanted to show her he had kept that promise. However, in truth, that wasn’t the reason he’d made this trip. He made the trip to rub it in that he won and she’d lost—that he would watch her final suffering. After several minutes, he realized if he walked in that room to talk to her, or watch the execution, she wouldn’t be the only one to die at that time. Part of his soul would die with her.
He thought back to the people in the two pictures sitting on his desk. He owed them all of his soul. He owed Melanie Milam none of it.
With a smile, he left Huntsville for his family.
The end
* * * *
Coming soon from L&L Dreamspell, John’s next exciting novel, TATTERED JUSTICE.
Excerpt:
Kayla Nugent’s buzzing phone didn’t surprise her, but she hadn’t expected it this soon. Moments passed before she picked it up. Edward Harken’s voice on the other end also didn’t surprise her. His words did. “Kayla. Taylor McMasters wants you in his office in ten minutes.”
The phone on the other end died with a click. No other words—short, simple and to the point, the end of the conversation and her career. She hadn’t known what to expect, but hadn’t thought she’d get the death penalty.
In a fog, she rose from her chair, crossed her arms, and stared at the picture of her father on the corner of her desk. She fought back tears. She’d failed her father as a daughter and now as an attorney. Her hand touched the Deason trial transcript, but she didn’t bother to open it. She’d read over it enough and knew it word for word.
