Ashes to Ashes

by Nathaniel Fincham

Chapter 22

  A few hours later Ashe found himself at home, sitting hunched over his circular dining room table, sipping on his third Sam Adams. He took a drink and put down the sweaty bottle. A pen wiggled in his other hand as he tried to concentrate. He was in the process of putting down notes into one of his many spiral notebooks. He was trying to list facts about Scott and the killings that were solid and indisputable. From the facts he might be able to logically deduce the reasoning behind them, mainly the reasoning behind Owen.

  He was not part of the investigation and did not have access to even half of the evidence or information that the police had obtained. He was at a major disadvantage. All he had to go on was a few facts and lot of assumptions and logical ideas based on his own professional experience.

  He took a large gulp of Sam Adams. The beer did little to loosen the gears in his mind. Even so, he took another gulp of the lager and sighed as it slid across his tongue and down his throat.

  He jotted.

  Owen was killed while he slept in his bed. A single gunshot to the head. Scott ran.

  Killing someone in their bed meant that the crime was most likely committed out of spontaneity or fear of the victim or both. Ashe thought more about the fear aspect. Fear, at least that type of fear, could lead to desperation. By shooting someone, perhaps dangerous or intimidating, while they were helpless, the shooter bypassed any chances of reaction or retaliation.

  He thought again of Tela, the battered wife who fought back by killing her husband in his bed. She had feared his retaliation. She had feared for her own life, which had caused her to stab her husband while he slept.

  Had Scott been desperate?

  Had Scott been afraid of Owen?

  If Owen would have roused or been awake, would the crime have happened? Doubtful.

  Understanding that fear and desperation could have been the main emotions behind the crime was one thing, but he could not claim to understand the root behind the fear itself.

  Scott had obviously been far from a battered wife. What had been his trigger?

  Why had Scott been afraid of Owen?

  Why had he been desperate?

  A physical confrontation had taken place between Scott and Owen, or so said two leads. If true, what could the confrontation have been about? Could it have been the precursor to the shooting? Owen had a documented history of extreme violence while on drugs. The violent history shows a patter in Owen’s behavior which might have spilled over onto Scott, making Scott react in a violent way.

  He thought about what Regime had told him.

  Scott had been irritable and distant during the time leading up to the shooting.

  Why?

  If Scott had been afraid for his own safety because of Owen, alternate steps could have been taken that would not have ended in bloodshed and death.

  He thought hard for a few minutes, but eventually jotted down another note, another question that he had no choice but to at least consider, even if he hated it down to the core of himself.

  Drugs were found in apartment, even if the only evidence of drugs seemed to be in Owen’s bedroom only. Owen had a solid pattern of drug use which matches the evidence found at the scene. But had Scott become involved in the drugs with Owen? Had they been a factor? Doesn’t seem likely, but can’t be entirely ruled out.

  Ashe was well aware of the affects that drugs, any form of drugs, could have on a person’s mental stability. If Scott had actually become involved in drugs like hallucinogens or other types of drugs that could cause drastic changes in personality, he might not have realized what he was doing, just like Owen didn’t recognize his own roommate. His common sense could have been clouded, tilted of their center, meaning that the murder could have taken place in a drug induced daze.

  He took another drink of beer.

  Was a mental illness a factor?

  For some reason the idea that a serious mental illness could have been at the root of the killing almost comforted Ashe. To him, a mental illness was not an invincible dragon. It was not an immortal beast. It was a disease like any virus or bacteria. It could be documented. It could be understood. And most of all it could be treated.

  Ashe tried to treat Scott like any other person with a possible mental illness. At that moment, he could only document what he believed that he knew about his son. But the information could be subject to change in the future.

  Documented case of Alzheimer’s in the paternal grandfather. No other history of mental illness has been documented. No personal history of mental illness or treatment for mental illness had been discovered. No known history of substance use or abuse existed, but the possibility must be noted.

  Possible symptoms…

  Ashe wasn’t sure what to write after possible symptoms. He needed more information. He needed more witnesses. He needed more data. Too many possibilities existed beyond the reported irritability and distraction. Paranoia. Hallucinations. Delusions. Depression. Mania. And many, many more.

  He felt like he was running in circles. Instead of long list of facts, he was jotting down mostly assumptions and inferences. Ashe took his beer bottle and swallowed the rest of the liquid. Before rising to grab another from the fridge, he wrote down a few things about the shootings in the park.

  Self-defense.

  Jacket and gun had been left behind.

  Victims were known criminals and thugs.

  Scott could have left the jacket behind for a specific reason. But what? Did he want to prove self-defense? Was the jacket simply a clue? But why did Scott feel the need to prove that the killings in the park had been self-defense? Did he want to separate those acts from what happened to Owen? Differentiate the shootings from one another?

  Considering the possibility, Ashe got to his feet. After dropping his empty bottle into the trash, he moved to open his fridge. But before he could his land line began to ring. It broke the silence and startled him. He leapt to the phone and answered it.

  “Scott?”

  At first there was only silence, but he then heard a familiar female voice at the other end, “Ashe? Did I dial the wrong the number again? Damn rotary phone. You just can’t trust em.”

  “Katherine?”

  “Ashe?”

  “Yea,” he said, trying to gather his thoughts. “Hi. How is it going? Didn’t expect you to call…at all, to be honest.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” Katherine admitted. “Did that hurt your feelings? Good. You deserve it. I am just joking, though. I was always going to call you. I like men who play hard to get.” She laughed. It was a cute giggle.

  “I’m sorry that I ran out on you,” Ashe said.

  “And haven’t called,” she added.

  “And haven’t called,” he admitted. “I’ve actually been extensively preoccupied. A lot of things are going on.”

  “Right this second?” Katherine asked.

  “I guess not right this second,” he admitted. “Why?”

  “How do you, me, a couple bloody steaks, and a shit load of Sam Adams sound?” she said. “Does that sound like a good time?”

  “It kind of does.”

  “Can I come over, then?”

  “Sure,” Ashe replied.

  “Splendid.”

  She hung up. Seconds later a light knock came at the door. Ashe couldn’t help but to grin.