After the Evil – A Jake Roberts Novel (Book 1)

by Cary Allen Stone

  * * *

  She was as beautiful in the early morning, just as she was in Abrams’s office. I was excited when I was assigned to interview her for the case.

  “Lori Powers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Detective Jake Roberts, Homicide, I’m sorry to bother you.”

  I held up my wallet with my department identification, and shield.

  “I just need a moment of your time to ask a few questions regarding Dr. Thaddeus Abrams. You were a patient of his, correct?”

  “Homicide?” Lori says.

  She studied my identification.

  “Yes, I am, I mean, was. How awful, I just this minute read about it.”

  She looks at the newspaper and shakes as if a chill has risen up her spine over the tragic news.

  “I’m afraid I missed—”

  She saw I wasn’t following.

  “I’m a flight attendant, and I have been away for the past few days. I can’t believe it.”

  She looks a little closer at me.

  “Didn’t I see you in his office?”

  “That’s quite a memory you have.”

  “Not really. I deal with people all day long on airplanes. With the terrorist things going on, we have to pay closer attention now. I pay more attention than most crewmembers, because the whole thing frightens me to death,” Lori says.

  She shudders. Her beauty and charm are disarming.

  Pay attention, Jake.

  “You’re right. I was just leaving when you walked into his office. Anyway, I got your name and address from his client list. Again, I’m sorry to bother you. Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure, I was on my way out, but for Dr. Abrams, if I can be of any help.”

  She pivots as if working an aircraft cabin, and invites me into her home. As she walks in front of me, her perfume inspires me more than questions about Abrams. We stop in her living room.

  “He was a very good man, well-respected. I hadn’t been a patient of his for very long though,” Lori says.

  “You were one of the last patients he saw that day, he was murdered later in the evening. I thought maybe something might stand out, something unusual, while you were with him.”

  “Unusual? How do you mean?”

  “Did he receive any distressing phone calls, or interruptions? It appears that he might have known his assailant. Did he show any signs of stress?”

  I like the dress.

  “No, did he show any before you left?”

  She jams me up. I didn’t expect the question, but she has a valid point, because I was pretty much there right before she was.

  “Ah no, he appeared fine to me.”

  Now I feel clumsy, off balance and stupid for asking. It isn’t easy with her. I’m supposed to be doing the intimidating. I can’t stop looking into her eyes, and not like a cop looking for signs of deception.

  “Can I ask you another question, Detective Roberts?”

  I can’t stop the smile from appearing on my face.

  “Normally, I get to ask all of the questions, but under the circumstances of both of us being his patients, I guess it would be fair.”

  “Why were you seeing Dr. Abrams?”

  With a simple question, she makes me feel self-conscious and uncomfortable. My emotional state is fragile, and I’m trying to keep it under control, but for some reason I feel I can unravel in front of her without any penalties. The hurt floats to the surface. I can’t keep it under water.

  “That Miss Powers is a subject I really don’t want to discuss.”

  “I’m sorry, I not trying to pry. I’m just curious.”

  Detective Roberts you are a handsome man.

  For some reason, I can’t help but feel at ease around her. She is warm and friendly. Her smile is enticing and personal. I get the impression it’s only there for me. It’s probably one of the reasons why she was hired as a flight attendant. A great smile is one way to distract someone with a fear-of-flying. Because Abrams isn’t going to be any help, I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t let it out. Sometimes it’s better to confide in a stranger.

  “I was involved in a shooting recently, with a militia group. A young girl was killed.”

  “The department requires a shrink visit after shootings.”

  I read about the kid with the Molotov cocktail and the assault rifle.”

  She doesn’t back away, and takes me straight on.

  “You were the officer who shot her? You were wounded too, weren’t you?”

  “Yes I was, to both.”

  “Well, I want you to know Detective Roberts, what you did was a courageous thing. You tried to make a difference in this world. You performed your duty, and protected the rest of us. I thank you for that.”

  Amazingly, I feel redeemed and absolved. The back of my hand drags across each eye and I pinch my nose.

  “Thank you, I haven’t been doing well with it.”

  “It must be very difficult for you. Was Dr. Abrams able to help?”

  You have beautiful, honest eyes.

  “It is, and no, but he tried. We really didn’t have much time to get anywhere with it. I was resentful going to see him. I don’t like exposing my weaknesses.”

  She reaches forward and gently pats the back of my hand. I’m in the middle of a murder investigation, and she is standing there with her reassuring smile comforting me. A lot is racing through my mind.

  “I don’t have a degree in psychiatry, God knows I was a patient of his too, but if you ever need someone to talk to, someone to listen, well you know where to find me.”

  She points at her address and phone number on my notepad.

  “Thanks.”

  I don’t know what else to say. It’s weird, but I don’t know what to do with my hands.

  “What about you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  She looks at me with little girl eyes.

  “After what you just told me detective, my story seems trivial by comparison.”

  “I’d like to know, please.”

  She becomes sullen and starts to pace.

  “Well, my daughter, a few years ago, decided this world wasn’t a fit place to live in.”

  She started to straighten things along the way she thought were out of place. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  “She had just turned sixteen when... I never got to say goodbye.”

  She looks off somewhere past me, while she uses a tissue.

  “Is there a Mr. Powers, someone to help you through it?”

  I try to make the question sound as if it’s coming from a professional level, rather than an invasion of privacy for personal gain. She looks at me with more sadness and anger.

  “Mr. Powers deserted us years ago. He wasn’t much in the first place, but he really wasn’t much in the last place. The truth is, I wish he had left sooner.”

  She looks away again during her recollection of how events of the past had hurt her.

  “You know sometimes we protect our relationships, as weak as they are, for some strange reason.”

  I’m glad to hear Mr. Powers is history. She never mentioned a boyfriend, so that door is open. Strangely enough, Abrams’s untimely departure may just have brought two of his patients together, for no other reason than to console one another.

  “The same offer goes to you, Mrs. Powers. If you ever need someone to listen, I’m here.”

  I hand her my business card.

  “Lori,” she says.

  She reaches out and offers a long, slender hand.

  Maybe he is the one.

  I take her hand and hold it longer than a handshake.

  “Jake.”

  “Very nice to meet you, Jake.”

  We both feel awkward, but sense something unique has just happened. I’m uncertain about what the next move is. The possibilities are endless. The moment lingers for a while.

  “Was there anything else, Jake?”

  “Will you be flying off soon?”

&nb
sp; “Actually, I just got back and I’m leaving to visit my daughter. I make it a point to see her as often as I can.”

  Her mood drops a few levels again.

  “I miss her a great deal.”

  I wonder what the militia girl’s parents think of me.

  “Well, I have everything I need. I still have two more of his patients to see, so I better go.”

  Lori offered an invitation.

  “I’ll be back in the house about four, if you need anything else.”

  She gives up another irresistible smile. For so long, I have protected my castle, and yet she easily breaches its walls, and captures it. I’m surprised by how much I want to let the floodgates burst open. I go with a simple “Okay.” As her door closes behind me, I return to reality.

  What would she want with a broken down cop anyway?

  Lori watches me through the window.

  I have a good feeling about you. Maybe you’re the one.

  * * *

  It was a beautiful morning. The birds seemed energized, and the air smelled clean. White-topped, and gray-bottomed clouds floated indiscernibly by. There were breaks between the clouds that allowed laser shafts of sunlight to touch the earth. On her way to the cemetery, Lori stopped by the florist’s shop and purchased a bouquet of daises and carnations. They were on Emily’s list of favorite flowers. Rejoicing at the warmth of the sun, Lori made her usual trek through the miniature monuments, with names and departure dates, until she arrived at Emily’s.

  “Hi baby, mommy’s here. I missed you terribly.”

  She stood with her arms full of flowers. She didn’t hear a reply. Lori tried again.

  “Emily, mommy’s here.

  Silence, not hearing her daughter’s usual greeting was a painful blow.

  “Baby?”

  No answer. Lori stressed and listened closer, but still nothing. Standing with her eyes closed, Lori remembered Emily’s suicide note.

  You should have stopped him. Why didn’t you stop him? I hate you. I will hate you forever.

  Finally, a very subdued child’s voice spoke.

  I’m here, mommy.

  Lori looked rapidly left and right.

  “Where are you, Emily?”

  She became anxious, possessed. Her baby was near. She didn’t care if anyone saw her.

  “Baby, where are you?”

  I’m in the dirt, mommy.

  Lori quickly gathered the flowers she had brought. She fell down on her knees and placed one hand on the grave. The other slid along the smooth headstone.

  “Baby, what’s wrong? I came as fast as I could. Please, don’t be angry with me.”

  Who is he?

  “Who, baby?”

  That man mommy, who was that man you were talking to?

  “You mean the detective, Detective Roberts, baby? The man who came to see me? Oh he’s nobody, just wanted to ask me some questions.”

  A groundskeeper, a black man with a rake, stopped to watch Lori. He stared at her, and she glared back until he finally moved on.

  He’s bad mommy, a bad man.

  “Oh no Emily, he’s no such thing. He was just asking about Dr. Abrams.”

  Lori’s voice trailed off.

  You mean the dead Dr. Abrams? Maybe he’d like to ask about the dead Father Moralli, or maybe the dead Senator Whitman?

  Lori looked down not knowing how to answer. Instead, she started to pull twigs and weeds from the grass and tossed them to the side. She never liked when Emily was in a bad mood.

  “Emily—”

  Leave her be! She’s only concerned. Jake Roberts is a problem.

  Lori quickly surveyed the cemetery for mourners.

  “I like him. He’s not like the others.”

  She waited, but no one answered. Lori drifted off with her thoughts.

  Daddy was on top of her. Emily gripped the sheets while he sexually assaulted her. It hurt, but she was afraid to tell on him. She loved him, and hated him. She did not want to be the cause of any more problems between her fighting parents. When she tried to tell, it was as if mommy did not want to hear.

  Before he finished with her, Lori returned to reality then the image of Jake Roberts replaced the horror of the dream. A smile appeared on her face. Life did not have to be full of heartache.

  Could he be the one?

  Inside, her heart danced with a renewed sense of optimism. Lori felt hopeful again. It had been a long time since she had any feelings.

  * * *

  It’s my job to be analytical and know the geography. An intense debate is going on inside of my head as I think about Lori. I want to feel her passion, to share every minute, to listen to her words, and be touched by her. I want to watch her breathe. My cell phone rings as I drive away from Lori’s residence.

  “Are you up for some lunch?” Mika says.

  Imagine that, a call from Mika in the middle of my debate about falling in love with Lori.

  “I’m close to Hennigan’s, got anything?” Mika says.

  “As a matter of fact, I’m starving, and Hennigan’s sounds good. And yes, I think it’s a tumor.”

  She didn’t like my wisecrack. I'm scolded.

  “That’s not funny––I’d miss you.”

  “See you there.”

  I’m just a few blocks away from Hennigan’s. I see no need to race there. Mika isn’t even close herself. I hate waiting like a lapdog, tongue hanging out and tail wagging. The extra time gives me a chance to come up with an excuse, as to why I was given three interviews to do, and only finished one. Maybe Harmon has something so I dial his number.

  I’d miss you?

  As I wait for him to pick up, Mika pulls up alongside my car looking cranky. I climb out of my car.

  “Everything, okay?”

  I sense incoming trauma. She shrugs, and heads for the front door of the restaurant without saying a word. I hate when women do that. I hate the guessing game. I open the door for her. It was the restaurant management’s hope you would somehow confuse the place for a popular restaurant with a similar name. The food was good, and no one cared about the name anyway. Mika told the hostess there were two, and possibly three of us. The young girl marches us to a corner booth. After she takes our drink orders, she goes about retrieving them. Mika is still looking off into some far horizon, but finally speaks.

  “I want this guy, I’ve been through each case a thousand times and nothing, but nothing, plus more nothing. What I do know for sure is, I have multiple deceased males. That’s the sum total of what I have.”

  Without anything to follow with, I ask if Harmon stumbled onto anything.

  “He would have called if he had.”

  Her answer is abrupt, but I press on anyway.

  “Was there any more out of the M.E.?”

  “Moss didn’t have anything earthshaking, just basic autopsy stuff.”

  She says it while scrutinizing the other patrons like a cop.

  “The perp could be in here, right now, having lunch, and I wouldn’t know it.”

  “Easy, we’re not in the Waterfront Tavern.”

  My reference is to the infamous bar where several prolific serial killers had once tossed down a cold brew together. The county morgue is not my kind of place. I detest it. I make my living as a homicide investigator and am required to go there. I always think it’s full of creepy people who enjoyed a little too much what they did for a living. I often thought they should be investigated. Fortunately, my ex-girlfriend turned FBI profiler is in command, so I don’t have to go. I can just read the report.

  Lori Powers.

  Her face keeps popping up in the upcoming events marquee in my mind. Mika on the other hand has a different look about her today. Until Lori Powers, Mika was where I had hoped my luck in love would lead, again.

  “Did you do something different with your hair?”

  She looks at me as if trying to decide, whether or not I deserve an answer.

  “No Jake, same hair, why? What’s on y
our mind, something you want to talk about?”

  She asks as she pulls out a file three actual, and not man inches, thick, press-a-ply's are stuck everywhere. She looks over her notes.

  “How did your interview with...Lori Powers go?”

  Being a detail person, she notes the change in my expression, and watches my head turn away when she says the name. I’m not fast enough with an answer for her.

  “Jake?”

  “Let me give Harmon a call. He might want to meet up with us.”

  I need to buy some time, and quickly press speed dial. It takes only a second for Harmon to answer.

  “Hey big man, where you at?”

  “Passing Fifth and Sycamore, why?”

  “Hennigan’s. Thought you might like to join us. Got anything?”

  I nod in Mika’s direction to show I’m on the case.

  “On my way, be there in fifteen at the most.”

  Harmon whispers into the phone as if Mika might hear his next sentence.

  “Is she wearing the short red skirt?”

  “Watch for those pedestrians.”

  I sign off and wink at Mika.

  “He’s on his way. Hope the FBI is paying for lunch. A man Harmon’s size can’t be fed on what I make.”

  Mika is lost in thought. I’m afraid to ask what is going through her head. I think I’m out of the line of fire, and assume she’s thinking about the “Who’s Your Daddy” killer.

  That was some shower.

  She smiles.

  “When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

  Maybe I don’t get the question, or why she asked it, but I go along with it.

  “In my neighborhood, you only had three choices––a cop, a fireman, or a priest. I’m afraid of fire, so being a firefighter was out. I like women, so the priesthood was out. That left only one option.”

  “Organized crime?” she says.

  “Actually, the ad said only Sicilian’s need apply, but I filled out the application anyway.”

  I answer with a sneer. Mika starts to laugh. It’s the first time I have seen her laugh since our pitiful reunion. It wasn’t your normal belly laugh, more like an adult giggle.