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

by Cary Allen Stone

  “Bring him in, or if you think he’d be more cooperative in his own environment we can drive over there.”

  Mika thought it over and made a command decision.

  “Oh forget it, let’s go.”

  She reached behind her temporary office door and grabbed her FBI stenciled windbreaker. It was always a good idea to wear one for effect. On the other hand, showing your weapon when talking to a witness had a bad effect. It had a tendency to make them a bit forgetful and nervous. As they walked out to her car, Mika stated emphatically she was driving.

  “Like it or not, I’m driving.”

  She could not make out what Harmon was saying under his breath, but she had a good idea. It didn’t matter. She had a job to do. Rolling his eyes, Harmon hefted his mountainous frame into the passenger seat of her car. As she drove, he gave her directions with attitude and accentuated pointing.

  “Left, here,” he said.

  “Give the sarcasm a rest okay?”

  Mika was frustrated too.

  “I need your help, not another pain in my behind.”

  Mika swung the wheel and the car careened around the corner. The weight of Harmon inside caused an imbalance and the car dipped to one side.

  “Where’s Jake? Isn’t he on this case anymore?” Harmon said.

  “You’re asking me where he is. You’re his partner. You’re supposed to know where he is. Did you hear from him this morning?”

  Mika was being nasty because her patience was nearly gone. She was also painfully aware of what her father had said about the two of them, and how she still felt about Jake. She was also unhappy, even jealous, about the fact he was interested in a female witness.

  Focus girl, you have a killer to find.

  Harmon looked at Mika and shrugged.

  “I think he’s still whacked about the shoot. Honestly, don’t know how he stays in the game.”

  She looked back at Harmon distracted for a moment from her mission, while the wheels turned a little faster inside her head.

  “He doesn’t let on it’s dogging him.”

  “Yeah, well I thought Abrams was going to help him out of it, but that came to a screeching halt. He won’t go see anyone else. He doesn’t believe they can help anyway.”

  “Right, turn right, next light!”

  When this is over, I’ll be there for him.

  As she made the turn, the hookers standing on the corner didn’t even draw an exclamation from Harmon. The turn put them right behind a traffic jam. Her small palm smacked the steering wheel as she surveyed the situation.

  “This sucks.”

  Harmon changed the subject.

  “When do you have to head back to the Feds?”

  He watched a group of tough young black kids outside a food store.

  “You’d have thought they would have been more help with all of their fancy computers and experts.”

  “Easy, don’t forget I’m one of their experts.”

  She looked out the side window at the traffic.

  “And why aren’t we moving?”

  Harmon reached for the door handle.

  “Want me to go see what’s up? Most of these cars are small. I could clear a path for you, I’ll start with that little Honda over there.”

  His wisecracks elicited a small laugh and subsequently eased some of the tension. Mika sighed.

  “You know, Harmon, maybe I’m pushing too hard.”

  He shifted in the seat and caustically scoffed.

  “You think?”

  In the passing of a millisecond, they glanced at each other. The tone of his comeback started them laughing. It quickly escalated into one of those laughters you couldn’t stop. The two of them roared until their eyes were tearing. It continued until Harmon held up his monstrous hands to call a truce, so that both of them could concentrate on taking a breath. After their empty lungs filled with precious air, it started all over again until Harmon forcibly yelled.

  “Hey, traffic is moving again.”

  Mika recovered and shifted into drive. Both dried their eyes and were back on the job. As she drove down the street, Harmon pointed out the old man’s house. Mika continued past Abrams’s residence, while she tried to visualize the killer’s escape route. Profiling was what she was trained to do. She had studied every word in Dr. Brussels’s texts, the man who originated the concept. Her instructors at Quantico gave her everything they had learned from years on the job. Mika was representing them all. She was good at it, very good at it. Since she had been with the FBI, she had tracked down some of the most prolific serial killers.

  The “Who’s Your Daddy” maniac was by far her most challenging case. She could feel the burn in her stomach knowing he had not been apprehended. It was taking too long, and it was affecting her confidence level. The flowerbed in front of the windows had captured his complete concentration, so the old man did not notice the car pulling into his driveway. As Mika and Harmon exited the car, they heard him lament.

  “Too little fertilizer I guess.”

  “Mr. Dickens?”

  Harmon startled the old guy, causing him to turn so fast, they feared he would lose his balance, or worse, suffer a stroke. Harmon even started dialing 9-1-1, but stopped when he saw the old man wave. Squinting, Mr. Dickens held his hand over his eyes to watch them approach.

  “Hey, you’re the policeman, aren’t you? Back again?”

  “Yes sir, Detective Harmon Blackwell, I spoke with you early this morning. And this is Special Agent Mika Scott with the F-B-I.”

  He said it slowly making sure he got through. Mika held out her identification. The picture of her and the printing were far too small for him to read, so he reached into his shirt pocket to retrieve his thick reading glasses. Harmon shot Mika an “I told you so” look. Mika batted her pretty eyes at him.

  “Mr. Dickens, I’d like to ask you some more questions about what you saw the other night.”

  “I already told the colored boy all I know.”

  Harmon rotated to look at Mika with his eyes scrunched together.

  “Why don’t I give Roberts a call and find out where he is. I’ll leave you here with the...Mr. Dickens.”

  Not waiting for her permission, Harmon walked toward the car and pulled out his cell phone. It was always difficult for his big fingers to hit the tiny keys, so he used the eraser side of a pencil to punch them. Jake’s phone rang once. Surprise covered Harmon’s face when Jake answered. He didn’t know Jake was hoping it was Lori calling.

  “Would you rather we stand in the shade, Mr. Dickens?”

  Mika led him by the arm as they moved beneath an oak tree.

  “About that night, you said you were leaving I understand, to visit relatives?”

  Dickens nodded.

  “That’s what I told him.”

  “Which direction sir, were you going when…”

  Harmon was furious.

  “Where the hell are you, man? You’re supposed to be out here doing your detective thing. I can’t do all of this by myself.”

  I want him off balance.

  “I love you, man.”

  I can picture him shaking his big head. The phone drops to Harmon’s side while his other two fingers pinch the skin between his eyes.

  “That’s funny––‘I love you, man.’ Please, please, don’t go there.

  “So, where are you?”

  “Well, if you had been to the briefing, you would know that Harmon Blackwell, colored boy, broke the case wide open.”

  It was his turn to yank my chain.

  “You broke the case? Now who’s the funny guy?”

  I make light of what he said, but I realize how far out of the loop I am. While I was out trying to recover my heart and soul, I apparently lost my focus. Harmon chides me.

  “I’m here with Mika right now. We’re in the middle of interrogating him. She’s already slapped him a couple of times. He’s bleeding from the cut at the corner of his mouth. I get a crack at him next.”


  “Really, so Sherlock where are you?”

  “Abrams’s neighborhood where a neighbor, a real old, frail, tiny white man is telling us everything he knows. He’s our only lead. I’m tired of covering for you so get over here. Heal already, you hear me, I feel your pain, but heal already!”

  He let it sink in.

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Was that Jake?” Mika said.

  “The very same Jake we all know and love.”

  “Where’s he been?”

  “Don’t know, I guess we’ll find out when he gets here. Get anything from the old man?”

  “Not much, a little.”

  She looked across the street at the deserted Abrams residence.

  “Mrs. Abrams is staying with relatives while she grieves. We’re right here, might as well go and take another look around.”

  As she crossed the street, Mika was lost in her thoughts.

  What am I missing?

  She walked through the front door.

  “STOP, STOP, F-B-I!”

  Mika shouted and bolted toward the rear of Abrams’s residence just after opening the front door. The intruder didn’t heed her command. He moved gracefully and fast. If she didn’t know she was chasing a human, she would have thought the intruder had wings as he flew over furniture, and out the rear entrance. Harmon took off behind her while drawing his service revolver. He had no idea what she saw, or whom they were in pursuit of. He just did his best to keep up. The sound of her voice trailed off as more distance separated them, but he still had Mika in sight.

  “GRAY SHIRT, BLUE JEANS, BLOND HAIR!”

  Taking all of the necessary precautions before bursting through arched doorways and rushing around corners, Mika ran as fast as she could. She lost sight of the runner several times, but caught enough glimpses to continue the pursuit. She heard Harmon’s labored breathing behind her and prayed he could keep up. The man appeared to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, she wasn’t sure.

  Come on Harmon.

  Somehow, Harmon was able to call for backup in between the wheezing. As he ran, thoughts about chasing down running backs in college flashed through his head. His determination kicked up the adrenaline. Besides, he couldn’t let it get out a woman had beaten him to the goal. Fences, trees, shrubs and homes blurred by them during the chase. More distance opened up between the pursued, and the pursuers. Mika prayed she would bring him down. Mika’s breathing became painful. Rather than shouting again, she conserved the air in her lungs for the chase. Harmon shouted.

  “SHOOT HIM!”

  He thought the suggestion might give the runner something to consider, but it only made him run faster. Sirens wailed from at least three other directions, but none of those entering into the race were close enough to assist. Harmon shouted directions and progress into his handheld radio. As she ran, Mika saw reflections of red and blue in windows and against buildings. Backup was near, but her lungs were giving out. She slowed to a stop. She bent over and struggled to catch her breath. Harmon came up fast and passed her. She didn’t see the grin on his face. A patrol car pulled up alongside Mika. She lunged inside the open rear door. In a desperate effort to continue the pursuit, she shouted and pointed in the direction she thought the runner had gone.

  A small army of law enforcement officers disrupted the quiet neighborhood of Dr. and Mrs. Abrams as the search took on major proportions. The K-9 unit arrived to track the fresh scent. The chopper began a circular search pattern overhead. The runner knew he couldn’t out run a radio. There had to be some place to hide. Although he possessed strong lungs, swift moves, and great cunning, even the runner knew how badly he needed a break in the action. As he turned the corner, shelter from the ongoing pursuit came in the form of a small Presbyterian church. Frantically searching the exterior of the church, he found an unlocked door and went inside. He locked the door behind him.

  Harmon had to give up. He had lost sight of the runner shortly after Mika did, and staggered to a stop. Still straining for breath, he managed to radio he had lost the prey. For several miles in all directions, a perimeter was established. Buildings, residences, vehicles and foliage were searched. A command center was established and Mika began broadcasting details, as she knew them. As I drove up Fairchild was getting out of a black and white.

  Mika’s tone was cold.

  “Nice to see you could make it, Jake, I thought you would be interrogating Ms. Powers again.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  While Mika glares back, I think about a sign I saw while racing here. It had a black background with white letters that simply said “Will the road you’re on get you to my place?” It was signed, “God.” Who could have known the runner had taken the advice. Mika rambled at Ed.

  “All I saw was the gray shirt over jeans and the blond hair. He had a muscular build like he’s spent a lot of time on a weight bench.”

  Her eyebrows rose with an apparent respect for the perp’s athletic abilities.

  “And he’s fast, real fast, he’s got cheetah in his blood. He was in the house, didn’t say a word, just bolted. The guy ran for a reason. He may just be some sick curious type, but I want to hear that from him.”

  The radios were alive with call-ins. We could hear K-9 confirm their dogs had the scent. Fairchild let everyone else fill in the blanks. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Harmon. Winded, he crouched over with hands on his knees.

  “Are you going to make it?”

  Harmon gave me a disappointed look because the guy wasn’t in custody. He was also concerned eating too many donuts over the years had slowed him down a lot.

  “I should have had him man, I should’ve had him. The white boy was fast. We could have used him in that game against the Gators.”

  Football was Harmon’s life before he signed on with the department. He had scholarships to all of the Big Ten schools right up until his ankle was blown out. Fairchild chimed in.

  “He’s still in the area. He couldn’t have gotten too far. You two ran him to death, and I’m sure he’s hiding out until he can get his second wind.”

  Fairchild surveyed the surroundings and personnel present. More calls came in. Everyone was convinced the runner was still inside the net. The guys in the chopper reported there was no movement outside the perimeter. Patrol officers canvassed witnesses, and continued searching all vehicles in the area. We knew if enough rocks were turned over, he would be under one.

  The church was empty. The side door was usually left open whenever the pastor was attending to church business. The runner proceeded into the vestibule, but didn’t see anyone. He marveled at the beauty of the stained glass. The runner stood beneath a statue of Jesus Christ who died to save all of mankind. The runner knew he only had a few good deeds. He knew they were not enough for him to be rewarded in heaven. He had no misgivings about those pursuing him. They were anxious to send him to hell.

  I’m just a gurney ride away.

  He subconsciously grabbed the inverted bleeding cross on the chain around his neck. Inverted crucifixion was a harsher way to die. The heart would palpitate, while the victim choked on his or her own blood.

  Evil has never disappointed me.

  He heard a door creak open. He dropped down low. The singing and humming emanating from the pastor grew louder. Scanning over the pews, the runner watched as the pastor placed a large vase with a bouquet of roses on the altar. The man of the cloth took several steps back to observe the balance of the scene. He fell forward as the blow struck the back of his head, and lost consciousness immediately. Only the grace of God kept him alive.

  “I could kill you and violate you. What goes around; comes around.”

  The smug look on his face, and the words spoke volumes about the runner’s disdain for the clergy. He believed they allowed evil to go unpunished. The clergy were the real sinners. The time constraints required that he escape, so he decided against both killing the pastor and violating him. I
nstead, he took the pastor’s white collar and black cassock. The fit was close enough for him to pass.

  “I’ll be waiting for you in hell.”

  He walked out of the church leaving the pastor lying on the floor unconscious.

  * * *

  The man wearing the white collar was driving Pastor McMichaels’ new Lincoln Town Car. An officer signaled for the driver of the vehicle to come to a complete stop. He smiled and tried to present an accommodating attitude to the officer. He knew he had to play the cop to effect his escape. The officer stooped down to look inside the Lincoln.

  “Where are you coming from, Father?”

  “Antioch Presbyterian, officer.”

  “Pastor Powers, my son. Fathers are in the Catholic faith. And the church is a few blocks that way.”

  “Yes Pastor, I know where it is. Where’s Pastor McMichaels?”

  “Vacation officer, he’s finally taken a well-deserved vacation. We’ve been encouraging him for years to take one, but you know how stubborn he can be. I’m keeping an eye on the flock while he’s away.”

  The runner smiled to reinforce the charade, and he quizzed the officer.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’re looking for a man wearing blue jeans and a gray shirt. He has blond hair like yours.”

  “This person you’re looking for, is he dangerous?

  “We just want to talk to him is all.”

  “You must really want to talk to him judging from all of the commotion.”

  The officer’s partner indicated he thought the pastor was okay to leave and waved for him to move on. Runner put the car in drive, and held the brake.

  “Good luck officer, I hope you find your man. God be with you.”

  With his escape assured, the runner tossed the white collar out of the driver’s side window a little over a mile down the road.

  * * *

  It had been days and still no sign of the runner. The only report filed was from a Presbyterian minister who had been assaulted and stripped, inside a church in the area of the search. We didn’t know if there was a connection. We haven’t been able to find, or accidentally stumble onto anything tangible, that could end the “Who’s Your Daddy” killing spree. Everyone, except Ed, was cranky. Mika didn’t say much anymore. Harmon grumbled all the time. At least with Lori, I had someone to lean on. Seeing her over the past week had been difficult because of her flights, and my work on the case. While the quantity of time we spent together was meager, the quality of the time was abundant. We talked forever on the phone to try to make up for the separation.