Justifiable

Copyright  First Edition – January 2013

Wes Sarginson and Dianna Love Snell

KINDLE EDITION

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to institutions or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Interior and Cover design by

The Killion Group

www.thekilliongroupinc.com

We'd like to thank Philadelphia homicide detectives Timothy Bass and Stephen Buckley for answering our many questions. Thanks also for the tour of the Philadelphia police firing range and other locations that might otherwise have been off limits. We also appreciate the time and patience of longtime Philadelphia accountant Nelson Mishkin and his wife Barbara for giving us insight on the city’s many characters, one-of-a-kind dining establishments and its
neighborhoods that are a unique blend of cultures and personalities not often seen.
We’d like to thank Dr. William F. Gayton, the clinical psychologist who answered questions and shared insights on the mind of our villain. Sometimes details have to be altered for fiction so any mistakes are our own. And a special thanks to Hal Lichtenwald for the clever nickname Tusk.

Much appreciation to Mary Buckham, whose very early read and brainstorm suggestions spurred the idea of a significant secondary character. Dianna works on no story without the sharp eyes of her amazing assistant, Cassondra Murray, whose feedback is always spot on. Thanks also go to early readers whose feedback made a tremendous difference in this book – Steve Doyle (thanks for the weapon notes), Danny Agan (thanks for the detailed feedback from a former homicide detective), Manuella Robinson, Joyce Ann McLaughlin and Michael McLaughlin. Kudos to Kim Killion for a great cover, to Jennifer Jakes for formatting and Judy Carney for copy editing.

Last, and most important, thank you to Karl Snell and Ann Sarginson for putting up with two crazy writers who love them dearly.

Thank you to all the readers who have emailed asking about this book. We appreciate your support. If you’d like a free Keeper Kase™ Cover card (glossy card with this cover image and signed by Wes and Dianna on the back), go to
www.KeeperKase.com
for details.

We love to hear from readers –

Snail mail either Wes or Dianna at 1029 N. Peachtree Pkwy, Suite 335, Peachtree City, GA  30269

Email Wes –
[email protected]

Email Dianna –
[email protected]

Chapter 1

“Didn’t mean it. Didn’t mean it. Didn’t mean to hurt my baby – ”

“Sally.”  Frigid air badgered his skin and snatched frosted breaths from his lips. The gas camping lantern beamed a pocket of light into the night. Everything else was swallowed by darkness. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry – ”

Not sorry enough, Sally...but you will be
. “I understand, and we’ll pray your son recovers quickly.”  He offered her what she needed – a smile meant to reassure.

The hefty thirty-two-year-old mother cowered at his feet, sobbing, eyes downcast and searching, as though the concrete foundation would open up and save her. Tree shadows waved across her hunched form wrapped in a dirt-brown coat. Renegade snowflakes sprinkled around them, whispering optimism for Philadelphia and a new year just twenty-five hours old. 

Sally had not started hers off well, but he’d give her a chance to prove she could do better. One chance for redemption.

He shifted his numb feet on the frozen slab where a house had once stood years ago. Charred remains surrounded him, a testament to living too far out in the woods for a fire truck to reach. Too remote for rescue teams to save anyone.

The perfect location for an honest confession. 

Sally Stanton babbled the same watery apology in a woe-begotten voice. “I didn’t. I didn’t . . .”

More lies, like so many fabrications whispered in a confessional booth. He’d persevere against evil for the sake of the weak, even for pathetic lying women. He crooned to her in a soothing baritone. “It’s all right, my child, God understands your failures. He sees how difficult life is for you and your son. I’m here to ease your pain.” 

Her red-rimmed, button eyes glowed with a spark of hope, like stirred embers. Words sputtered from her lips in a choked gurgle. She wiped her runny nose with the back of her pale hand spotted with freckles.

The vacuous mask of another sinner who lacked remorse.

“It’s important for you to be truly repentant to receive absolution, Sally.”  His jaw muscles ached from holding back what he really wanted to say. 

“I sorry...sorry, sorry – ”

“Enough!”  The constant lying bruised his ears.

“Please,
sir
.”  Greedy desperation crawled into her voice.

“
Sir
? You dare to call me sir?”  Wind gusted violently. His black cassock billowed. The linen robe snapped as if issuing a reminder of how to properly address the right hand of God.

Even this dim-witted ox should be able to get it right.

“I m-mean father.”  She clutched her throat with pudgy fingers the size of Goliath’s. Filthy, broken fingernails.

Standing upwind spared him her usual noxious odor. He could overlook a lack of hygiene, but not her sin. 

A child had been harmed, a penance due. 

As God said, woe to the man who harms a single hair on the head of one of these little ones.

She coughed and peered up cautiously. Brittle wind lashed her limp hair that wrapped around her head, swatting her face.

Sally deserved so much more than a slap on the cheek for not taking care around a child she could crush. Her skinny five-year-old boy had gone to the hospital with cracked ribs.

“Father?”  Sally whimpered, wild eyes staring past him, confused. Her chest lifted and fell with one shaking breath after another. “I-I’m sorry I hurt Enrique when I fell on him. He should’na made me run after him. He was crying...lost my job today...not my fault...I need money.” 

Another ridiculous confession. “
Cease!
”

This woman would sin again and again and...patience, he had to be patient. First they repent then they pay penance.

Still kneeling, she posed in meek supplication. Her soggy voice dribbled out a pitiful whisper. “Don’t let police take me. Please. We got no family. Enrique needs me.”

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth
.

But St. Catherine’s Outreach Center would never survive and thrive unless the sinners atoned for their actions.

Sally quivered, an earthquake in a coat.

He
had a responsibility to everyone – God, the community, even this woman and certainly her child. She needed help, relief from lugging her cross.

Come to me, all who are burdened, and I will give you rest.

She’d broken a commandment. Thou shalt protect the children. Not one of the original ten, but one he was sure God demanded every adult obey.

“You gonna talk to police, fix this?” she begged.

“Yes, my child. I shall fix this, but you must repent and pay penance.”  He had to go through all the steps, assure the sinner was given every chance to prove true remorse.

“Accident, just an accident...love my Enrique.”  Her voice jumped a pitch higher, hysterical. “Not my fault. Not my fault.”  Sally’s hiccupped sobs rocked her body. The keening noise squeezed from her lungs might be another “sorry.”

He tried to see her as one of God’s creatures instead of maternal vermin that bred like rats then killed their young when food became too scarce. He lifted his hand palm out to quiet her, but fury clenching his muscles whipped along his arm.

His fingers curled into a tight fist.

Her eyes caught the movement. Her gaze slashed upward to meet his then her face flared with surprise, fear, panic. She dropped down on all four limbs and scrambled backwards on her knees, moving quickly for a big woman on rough concrete. Her doughy palms dragged across rusted nails sticking up through the foundation. She cried out, scooted faster, leaving a bloody streak. “Love my baby, love Enrique – ” 

Even an animal knows its baby is fragile and needs to be sheltered from harm.
He stepped toward her. “Calm down, Sally. I understand and so does God. I’m going to help you.”

Ignorant relief etched deep vertical lines between her eyebrows. “Now? You help me now?” 

“Yes, now.”  He reached through a slit in the side of his robe to feel cold wood and metal. Withdrawing his hand, he raised the .38 Smith and Wesson, pointing the barrel at the center of her forehead. 

Sally’s mouth fell open. Six rotten teeth chattered soundlessly behind her quivering lips.

He gently squeezed the trigger. Just like practice. The explosion rocked across the empty foundation and echoed against the trees.

She crumpled into a brown heap. Garbage.

He took a moment as she drew her last breath then shoved the weapon through the opening in his robe and inside the waistband at the back of his pants. From a hip pocket, he fished out the vial of oil and poured a drop on his latex-gloved finger.