BackTrek (12 page)

“Nothing is going to happen before we get
back, Jack. I won’t let it.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Jack replied.

“Look, Jack.”

“Look my ass! That’s my wife, my family in
there. I can’t just leave them laying in there like that. I can’t-”
Jack broke down in sobs again. Howe stepped over and did his best
to comfort him. After a few moments, he urged him towards his car.
Reluctantly Jack agreed to leave with Howe. They approached the
cruiser closest to them, and after a brief discussion with the
uniformed officer that stood by the door, Howe opened the passenger
door, and helped Jack get in. Howe got in the drivers side. Jack
turned and watched through the window as Howe drove them away.

Jim McAlister had been an Evidence Technician
for longer than he cared to remember. He had seen more blood over
the years than any Hollywood special effects guru could dream up.
Everyday when he went to work he knew that he would probably face
another gruesome crime scene, but still retained a hint of pleasure
at the thought of being able to pin down the creep that had caused
it. He still remembered in vivid detail how hard his job used to
be. Back when there was no DNA National Database. Proving that a
perp was guilty, or even finding the identity was more like a crap
shoot than an investigation. At first he had resisted the change to
the computerized scan method, but the first time that he was able
to identify and nail a suspect in days instead of weeks, he changed
his tune. In his position, the fact that he could help justice be
done was the only thing that drove him.

As he walked into the living-room, he found a
clean area on the rug and sat down his equipment, careful not to
disturb any potential evidence. He reached into his bag and pulled
out an elongated device, that had a tubular purplish bulb running
its full length.

“Okay, asshole, let’s see what you did.” He
muttered to himself as he turned on the light. As he shined the
light on the tangle of bodies, the blood splatters began to glow an
eerie bright purple, and McAlister stepped towards Mike’s body.

Over an hour had passed when Captain Howe
finally parked the cruiser back in front of the house. As he turned
off the ignition, Jack leaped out of the car and ran to the front
of the house. Two uniformed officers stopped him from entering the
house, and Jack began to argue with them as Howe approached,
slightly out of breath.

“Jack! Calm down. Give me a minute with
McAlister, and I’ll brief you on what we’ve got so far.” Jack began
to argue, but could tell from the look in Howe’s eyes, he decided
that was the best he could get, at least for right now. Jack
relaxed some and reluctantly agreed. He stepped aside and let Howe
enter the house.

“Jim?” The Captain said as he stepped through
the doorway.

“In here!” McAlister answered. As Howe
entered the living-room, McAlister closed the lid to his equipment
case.

“Did you get an identity on the perp?”

“Nope.”

“What do you mean, nope?”

“Just what I said, Captain. Not a single
shred of DNA evidence that doesn’t belong here. I found plenty of
blood, hair, skin particles…you name it, I found it." McAlister
said quietly. “It’s just like those two execution crimes. The only
DNA I found belonged to the victims.”

“Are you saying that this crime was committed
by the same perp as the two execution crimes?” Howe asked. “But the
M.O. is different. I mean they’re not all neatly lined up. And
there’s blood everywhere.”

“I said that there was no DNA. Yeah, it’s
definitely the same perp. Or somebody that’s he has trained. It’s a
professional job, no doubt, but this time it looks like he was in a
hurry.” McAlister stood up.

“Well if that’s Tracey, and those are the two
kids, then who’s this character?” Howe asked as he pointed towards
Mike’s body.

“Michael King. Apparently the brother. It’s a
slaughter all right, almost a case of genocide, but...”

“But what, Jim? What else?” Howe asked.

“I’m worried, Tom.” Howe looked McAlister in
the eye. He knew that the man had to be concerned for him to call
him by his first name.

“About what?” Howe asked.

“I did find another DNA sample. It’s your
boy, Jack.”

“Well he used to live here for God’s sake.
What do you expect.”

“This looked fresh, Tom. I won’t know until I
get back to the lab, but my guess is its only a few hours old.”

“What, you’ve got a machine that tells how
old a hair is now?”

“No, but I can test blood. It was his blood.
I found it on the door knob over there.” He said as he pointed
towards the backdoor.

“That doesn’t mean a thing.” Howe replied in
defense of Jack.

“By itself? No. But look at this.” McAlister
reached into his pocket and removed his police issue phone. He
tapped a few commands and turned it toward the Captain. It showed
an outside scene at night.

“What’s this?” Howe asked.

“Surveillance video. I got it from the alarm
company a few minutes ago. It’s tied into their alarm system.
Didn’t your boy mention it?” Howe shook his head. Jack hadn’t
mentioned any video surveillance. On the small screen, an alarm
began to blare and floodlights came on, and illuminated what
appeared to be the backyard of the residence. A tall man, wearing a
black coat ran into the screen from beneath the camera’s viewpoint
and away into the darkness at the far side of the yard.

“So that’s our guy?” Howe asked.

“There’s more.” McAlister said as another
figure clad in a dark coat suddenly ran into the field of view and
followed after the first. “This guy is about the same height and
build as your boy. I think you should have a talk with him, and
find out where he’s been and what he’s been up to.”

“Jack couldn’t be involved in something like
this.” Howe said defiantly, even though his voice revealed that his
confidence had begun to waiver.

“You handle it like you want, but if this
sample comes back fresh, he’s going to have to come in. It’s as
simple as that.” McAlister pocketed the phone. He hesitated for a
moment as he looked into Howe’s eyes, then shook his head and
walked away. Captain Howe stood there for a moment in total
silence, as he thought about what he had just learned and tried to
develop a strategy to handle Jack with. He looked towards the
backdoor again, and heard McAlister’s van roar to life. Howe knew
that McAlister was rarely ever wrong, but he just couldn’t believe
that Jack could have had anything to do with his own family’s
murder. But no matter what he believed, McAlister was right. If the
blood sample off of the door was fresh, then Jack would instantly
be a prime suspect. Slowly he walked towards the front door, and
wished that he had never made Captain. He wished that he was still
just another cop on a beat.

“Captain? McAlister said that it’s the
probably same guy!” Jack was angry, and frustrated. Howe watched as
Jack told him what McAlister had relayed to him, and suddenly Howe
realized that he now watched Jack intently for any signs of guilt.
What McAlister had found had cast more than vague suspicion. It had
cast doubt.

“Jack, he also found something else.”

“What?”

“He found your blood on the backdoor.”

“The backdoor? I don’t remember ever bleeding
on the backdoor...but Jesus, Captain I used to live here.” Jack
said defensively as he suddenly realized what the Captain had
implied.

“I know Jack, but evidence is evidence. He’s
going to check the sample at the lab, to date it. In the meantime,
you take some leave. A few weeks to get your self together and try
to get a grip on things.”

“But Captain, I want to catch this son of
a-”

“Jack! I know what you want. We all want to
catch him. And we will. But for the time being you’re on
leave.”

“But-”

“I’m not asking you Jack, I’m telling you.”
Howe said. He turned and started to walk towards his car. As he
moved away from Jack, the images that McAlister had shown him
popped into his mind. “Oh, and Jack.” He said as he turned back.
“Don’t leave the city, unless you let me know. Policy and all...you
understand.” Jack stared at him, dumbfounded.

Jack watched as Howe backed down the
driveway, and drove off into the night. He was beyond shock and
beyond disbelief. His entire family had been murdered and now his
superior, someone he thought of as his friend, thought that he
might in some way be responsible. Whoever did this had been
involved in the execution murders that he and Penelli had
investigated, and now not only was he off the case, but he was out
of work. At least for the next two weeks. As he stood there and
stared after Howe’s car as it disappeared, another van rounded the
corner and pulled up into his driveway. The medical examiner had
arrived. Jack had seen more than he could handle. He could not
watch the M.E. drag out the lifeless bodies of his loved ones. He
ran to his car, jumped in, and sped off into the night.

Smith rolled over in bed and turned away from
the window. He tried to ignore the light that streamed in through
the blinds. He rarely slept later than seven on any day, but
according to the clock next to the bed, it was already after ten.
So what, he thought. I’ve earned it. He smiled. What a night, he
mumbled to himself as his smile spread into a full grin. Maybe he
would order room service. Some bacon. Some eggs. A couple of pieces
of toast. He liked toast. Especially with butter on it. Lots of
butter. Oh, maybe some of those little pancakes. He just loved the
little ones because you could drown them in syrup. He liked syrup.
Especially maple syrup. His fucking useless dirt bag slut of a
mother had never made little pancakes. His smile disappeared. That
fucking whore. She had never even made pancakes, the lazy fucking
bitch whore slut. She had always bought that God awful frozen
cardboard Eggo crap. You couldn’t toast a fucking waffle. What kind
of crazy ass bullshit was that? Then the she bitch expected you to
use that crap in a bottle store brand watered down syrup that
tasted like pure shit. Imitation maple the label had read. He
wished he had shoved a bottle of that crap down her diseased
scumbag throat when he had killed the fucking whore.

He rolled over to the edge of the king size
bed and tossed the cover off. Maybe a shower first, he thought. He
sat up on the edge of the bed. What a night it had been. He smiled
again. What a night indeed. He climbed out of bed, walked into the
bathroom, and lifted the lid to the toilet. What a night. He
thought as his bladder released and the stream of urine began to
splatter into the basin of the commode. The first pee of the day
was always the best he thought, especially on a day like today.
After such a wonderful night. He could feel the tension of the
world drain out of him as he urinated. What a beautiful day to be
alive, he thought. He finished, shook and flushed. A quick step
over to the sink and a splash of cold water on his face helped him
to wake up. He dabbed his face dry with a towel, and then carefully
replaced it on the rack. He looked into the mirror, and noticed his
smile. Yes, it would be a great day today, he thought.

He headed out of the bathroom and walked over
to the sideboard where the tiny coffee maker sat. As was a normal
morning ritual for him, he dumped the old grinds into the waste
basket, and took the filter basket and coffee pot to the sink to
rinse them. As he waited for the water from the spigot to heat up
he realized he was humming. Yes indeed. What a night. He rinsed the
basket and pot, and then filled the tiny pot. And what a day it
would be today. He should check his phone to see if payment had
arrived yet, he thought. He poured the water into the coffee maker
with a flourish. He seated the empty pot on the hot plate, placed
the filter basket in its receptacle, and reached for the sealed
pouch of coffee the maid had left when she had cleaned the room
last. Odd, he thought. There was only one. The maid always left two
bags. One regular. And one decaf. He picked up the single bag, and
stared it at with confusion.

He quickly glanced around the counter top
again. Maybe he had missed the other bag, he thought. He moved the
coffee maker to the side, and glanced behind it. He rifled through
the little basket that held the assorted sugars, sweeteners, and
artificial creamers. Frantically he looked down at the floor around
the counter. He began to sling open the pantry doors in his frantic
search. He grabbed the handle to the single drawer and yanked the
entire drawer free from the counter. The few pieces of silverware
clattered to the floor. In extreme anger threw it across the room.
The drawer shattered into splinters against the wall. He stood
there for a moment. His breath came hard. His face flushed with
hatred. His hands shook at his sides. There was no doubt. There was
only one bag. And, it was decaf. The fucking bitch whore had only
left him the God damned crappy ass decaf bullshit. The fucking
whore. A knock came at the door of the room.

“Housekeeping.” Came a female voice from the
other side of the door. He snapped his head towards the door and
stared at it. The knock came again. “Housekeeping.” She said again.
He watched the light on the door lock turned green. As the knob
began to turn, he smiled.

Jack still sat asleep in his chair as he
faced the silent TV. The light of dawn finally began to shine in
through the window. It was a restless sleep filled with dreams and
nightmares. As the sun began to shine brightly through the window
of his apartment, he gradually returned to the waking world.
Drowsily he got up and made his way into the kitchen. He fumbled
with the coffee pot, and finally got it started. As he leaned
against the counter with his head down, he listened to the sound
that the coffee maker made and wondered if he could ever find a way
to survive this disaster. All the way to the kitchen he had
wrestled with the idea that it had all been a dream. A horrible
nightmare. But as his mind pulled itself back fully into the waking
world it became more and more clear that the nightmare from the
night before was in fact a reality. Dead. They were all dead.