Final Test

Final Test

by Johnnie McDonald

Frankie and Johnnie Publishing

2 Grove Isle Drive #1403

Coconut Grove, Florida 33133

Copyright © 2015 Johnnie McDonald

All rights reserved

DISCLAIMER

Final Test is a work of fiction. All characters and events have been created by the author and actual locations have been used as a backdrop to fictional situations. Accuracy of dates and places as well historical reference are not intended as fact.

In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property.

DEDICATION

Bill McDonald, my husband, is not much of a reader, so I have regaled him on numerous occasions with excerpts from Final Test. He has become familiar with the characters and the plot, and has encouraged me to publish this novel he believes is fun and exciting. Through all of my many hours of secluded writing, disappointment with agent rejections, frustration with technological jargon and difficult website builders, as well as ineffectual marketing, he has been the catalyst which has kept me following my dream.

Thank you, Bill, for believing in me.

OTHER NOVELS BY JOHNNIE MCDONALD

Haunted Hearts

Novels by Johnnie McDonald and Frankie Carroll

The Deweyville Church Secretary series:

Devil’s Basement

Loose LIPS

Boilerman

NON FICTION by Johnnie McDonald

Something Special by Frank and Peg Brady

Websites of Interest

www.frankieandjohnnie.biz

www.wix.com/johnniemcdonald

CHAPTER ONE

An incarnate fantasy glided across the room with the poise and confidence of a supermodel. The pixie haircut, black and Latino slick, flattered high cheekbones and a plump mouth. A painted-on red mini-dress hugged a sleek body radiating the virtual command: look at me! An old man with cataracts was the sole human in the trendy restaurant failing to comply with the creature’s demand for attention.

Raif Keegan joined the onlookers. Averting his eyes would be gentlemanly, but something about the figure moving stealthily in his direction kept them riveted to its rhythmic sway. Not until she greeted him did cognition triumph over libido.

Sir, you can close your mouth now, the woman suggested as she slipped into the rich upholstered banquette. With a fluid motion, she opened the menu while crossing one sublime limb over the other.

Raif unlocked his gaping jaw and adjusted his suddenly too-tight necktie. Gillmore, is that you?

She lowered the leather-bound menu and a familiar voice spoke through unrecognizable red lips. Yes, sir, it’s me. Did you think I was going on a stakeout wearing my uniform?

No, but uh, I just didn’t think you would look so, you know, like a female. Raif stumbled over his words while trying not to stare at his employee’s choice of undercover apparel or lack thereof.

Gillmore shrugged her shoulders. I’m totally female, sir. I thought a little extra attention to my sexuality would assist in meeting our objective tonight.

As far as attention goes, every red-blooded male in this place is paying attention and might I say, homage, to your sexuality. Raif raised one eyebrow as he paid his own tribute.

Lieutenant, I take my job as a public servant seriously. When I make lieutenant it’ll be because of my skill and performance, not because I fit into some quota for filling vacancies or because I flattered the higher ups by wiggling and jiggling. I want no special privileges because I’m a woman and I refuse to be held back because of it.

Whoa, there, Miss Bra Burner of nineteen sixty-seven. You know I don’t think like that. You also know you can count on me to help promote you when the time comes. You’re a damn good cop, Gillmore. Just accept the compliment that you are also a damn good-looking woman. Lt. Raif Keegan definitely fit into the red-blooded category, yet he held fast to the rules and did not fraternize with or lust after the females with whom he worked.

A snooty waiter interrupted their conversation with his listing of the specials du jour. He was visibly piqued when the customers ordered the least expensive entrees and declined his invitation to discuss their wine choices with the sommelier.

I know what the sommelier guy does, Raif boasted, attempting to impress with a semblance of social enlightenment.

Sure, he recommends an over-priced wine you can buy at the grocery store for nine ninety-five, Gillmore quipped while surveying the details of the extravagantly appointed room.

Raif’s shoulders slumped as he realized even this twenty-something in front of him was more sophisticated than he. He could order white or he could order red and that was the extent of his knowledge in the so called finer points of wine consumption. Barbecue joints and pizza parlors were his life. If the place didn’t have televised sports action, junk food, and cold beer, he didn’t frequent it.

Oh, gotta brag. The department leased me this snazzy Porsche Cayman S with a three hundred twenty-five horse-power engine; goes to sixty MPG in seconds. You should see it, sir. Shiny silver with bitchin’ wheels, low-slung, purrs like a kitten, and drives like a demon. When I drove into the circular drive, four valet attendants ran up to help me exit the vehicle.

Visualizing the scene of four zittie-faced perverts scurrying to the car salivating over the sexy ride and its even sexier driver, Raif cut in sarcastically, I bet they did. He was also jealous—his lease car was a mere Mercedes SLK 350 Roadster.

Gillmore shot him an appraising look. I was forced to choose which valet to give the keys to, and our guy was one of them. I handed him the keys along with an appreciative smile and suggested if he took special care of my baby, I’d give him an extra tip. She stopped the conversation long enough for the waiter to set the signature china plates in front of them and give each dish a slight rotation for dramatic affect.

Did he say anything? What’d he do? Raif asked after the waiter left.

Not much, just a thank you ma’am. He took the keys and got in the car—no eye contact, not even a smile. He acted like he wasn’t watching me when I walked to the front door while the other guys were falling all over themselves to take in every last inch.

Yeah, he wants you to think he’s ignoring you. Well, since the department is paying for this dinner, we might as well dig in. Raif picked at his fancy chicken while Gillmore inhaled her fish and polished off a dessert. They ordered coffee and were killing the sixty minutes allotted for dinner when Raif’s head spun forty-five degrees.

What the hell! Raif dropped his fork and jumped to his feet, leaving Gillmore wondering if he had lost his mind. He marched a beeline to another table and plopped himself down in an empty chair without invitation. Good evening, Miss Waters. I guess you changed your mind about going out tonight. His sarcastic comment was peppered with aggravation.

The woman’s eyes flared with surprise, but she recovered quickly. Why, Raif, so nice to run into you. I thought you were working this evening.

I am. And I thought you were going to your father’s house for dinner, he accused while shooting an intimidating glare directly into the eyes of her male dinner companion.

Susan Waters put her hand over the man’s arm, a signal for him to remain quiet. How rude of me. Lt. Raif Keegan, this is Sean Adamson. Sean flew in from California today, and there was a slight change of plans. Would you care to join us, Raif?

Despite the formal introduction, Raif barely glanced in the direction of the third party whose amusement of this macho bravado scene was evident on his smirking face. The Adonis from California seemed every bit the obsessive body-builder type with bleached blond hair, pearly white teeth, and baby blue eyes. The seams of his sports coat stretched menacingly over broad shoulders and the tie barely encircled his neck.

No, I would not care to join you and junior here. I gotta get back to work, Susan, Raif snarled.

Susan’s eyes followed the direction in which Raif’s head tilted and came to rest at the table where an attractive young woman wearing a skimpy red dress sat peering in her direction. "I see why you must get back, Raif. She is definitely a piece of work." Her pasted-on smile disappeared.

Raif chose not to correct Susan’s perception of the situation. Yeah, isn’t she a dish? The childish one-upmanship felt great. Milking the gotcha act for all of its worth, he shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled back to his own table, grumbling under his breath as his butt plunked into the seat. What was that all about? I acted like a snot-nosed kid. It’s not jealousy. Can’t be jealousy. I don’t do jealousy. Susan and I don’t have a relationship—I don’t have relationships. What if she does have another date? We’re not exclusive—I don’t do exclusive.

What’s goin’ on, sir? Gillmore’s natural curiosity had her craning her neck for an improved peek at the beautiful blonde woman sitting at the other table.

Nothin’. Forget it. Somewhat embarrassed, he rotated his neck and refocused his attentions to the business at hand. All right, Gillmore, we rehearsed this several times. Is your head on straight? Are you nervous?

No, sir, not a bit. Listen, when you walk me to the car, don’t forget to come on strong, she admonished.

Sure, I got it. Raif felt as if he were the subordinate. Got to hand it to her, Gillmore is cool as a cucumber. She might have what it takes to lead the department someday. Wouldn’t that put heavy starch in Chief Spaulding’s shorts to have a woman in charge of the unit? He paid the check and left the fifteen-percent tip the Dallas Police Department allowed on its expense accounts. The grimace on the prissy waiter’s face indicated he was used to more than the customary amount.

The real show wouldn’t begin until they were outside, but Raif deliberately escorted Gillmore past Susan Waters’ table. And just to make the act appear genuine, he ran his hand down to the small of Gillmore’s back as he led her out the door of Chez Française.

Susan watched Raif’s departure scene with mixed sentiment. She was not normally given to male-baiting, but this cock-sure man had her dander up. She thought about the first time they met at Mel Byers Stoner’s apartment when she accidentally tripped over the threshold, and he caught her before she fell. He flashed a wicked grin and mouthed something corny like, ‘Angels must be falling from heaven and into my arms.’ He acted like I was supposed to go all limp and gah-gah over him. Yeah, he has the kind of manly good-looks women dream about: handsome features, smoky brown eyes and thick black hair, a solid build, and just tall enough to look up to. And he’s got all the right female-attracting traits like an exciting job, self-confidence, a devilish smile, and a charming personality he turns on and off when it suits him. But what about character and sincerity? What about depth and honesty? He isn’t exactly chasing after me, but he keeps hanging around. Perhaps he’s interested or maybe he’s just playing, too lazy or conceited to make a concerted effort. Okay, Raif Keegan, as you said on our second attempt at dating, ‘Let the games commence.’ Susan returned her attention to her dinner guest with self-satisfied resolve.

* * *

Raif and Gillmore stood at the valet stand, each waiting for their respective automobiles. They had specifically timed their request so that a particular valet would handle the retrieval of Gillmore’s car. When her Porsche was delivered and the valet was within earshot, Raif caught Gillmore by the elbow before she entered the car and pleaded, Oh, baby, are you sure I can’t come over tonight? That sexy dress you’re wearing has me hot and bothered.

I’ll wear it this weekend, sweetie, just for you. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow. Got to be fresh. Suddenly, she grabbed Raif by the back of the neck, pulled his face to hers, and planted a big, juicy kiss right on his unprepared mouth.

Taken off guard, Raif staggered backwards. Gillmore certainly takes her job seriously. Keep repeating: Gillmore is my employee, Gillmore is my employee.

Nightie-night, sugar. Call me tomorrow. Gillmore threw Raif an air-kiss before taking a seat in the sporty car, a maneuver involving the display of a thigh, before pulling the door closed. She tested the power of the engine by gunning the accelerator while it was still in neutral, then motioned for the valet attendant. Thanks, honey, for taking such good care of my ride. With a teasing smile complete with a lift of her right eyebrow, a gesture she learned from her boss, she passed the valet an extra five through the open window and slowly withdrew her hand from his. She dropped the gearshift into first and tromped on the petal. The rear end swerved and the tires peeled rubber as she sped out of the parking lot and headed down the street toward the stake-out destination.

Raif hopped into his Mercedes and pulled out of the lot heading in the opposite direction. When he was clearly out of view, he executed a U-turn and drove toward the same destination as Gillmore. Using the radio, he checked on the players involved in the stakeout. Corporal Greg Willis was on guard inside the designated apartment; a fifth valet attendant, an undercover officer named Corporal Mike Waller, did not respond; Corporal Erin Gillmore had arrived at the apartment and advised she had a report.

Gillmore told Raif she had used her travel size finger-printing kit to dust a pre-planted fake registration card with magnetic iron powder and discovered fresh fingerprints on the card and on the outside of the glove-box. An examination of the car keys and the apartment keys given to the valet earlier also revealed trace residue of a green gummy substance she guessed would end up being classified as Playdough. No doubt, sir, he’s our man, she stated. He’s been rummaging around where he didn’t need to go. Wish we knew for certain he’s taking the bait so we can get this over tonight.

Raif drove to the parking lot where he had left his own car earlier and made the switch. He loved his beat-up Range Rover, but giving up the European handling of the Mercedes Roaster was not easy. When he pulled into the lot of the apartment complex, he backed into a darkened corner and killed the lights and the engine. From his position he was able to watch the entrance to the landing of the apartment building in which Gillmore temporarily resided. The apartment had been carefully selected as an invitation to the criminal element: no gated entrance, a second-floor rear unit, a dark passageway to the front door of the unit, no dead bolt, no alarm signals.

He removed his jacket and tie, checked the clip in his police issue, and settled in for downtime. Since Waller had not yet radioed to give the signal that Elvis had left the building, he figured it would take a couple of hours for the alleged perp to make his appearance on the scene. In the meantime, he tried not to dwell on Susan Waters. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, fidgeted with his holster, squirmed in his seat, and ran his fingers over his thick hair. Dammit, what was she doing there with some boy bimbo? She’s been plenty pissed at me, but she’s never lied to me. Who gives a shit? I’m sick and tired of her cat and mouse games, anyway. Just shake it off, Keegan.

Raif rolled his neck from side to side and redirected his thoughts. Although sexual assault wasn’t his chosen field, he never did a job half-assed. He had accepted a transfer into the Sexual Assault Unit, a section of CAPERS or Crimes Against Persons, a couple years previously when he made detective. Joining CAPERS had been his escape route from the tedium of tracking down car thieves in Auto Theft or busting pot-heads in Vice. At age thirty-three, he now had his own unit to command and he vowed he would parlay the experience to make a name for himself, a name earning him a ticket to the Homicide Division.

Besides advancing his knowledge base in his new field through in-depth research, Raif hand-picked his staff, ensuring they were top notch. Erin Gillmore was the leading star in her class at the Dallas Police Academy. Her undergraduate degree included criminal justice and psychology with an emphasis in sexual deviancy. Making it into CAPERS was right where she planned to be. She had proved to be a young zealot whose intuitive instincts balanced well with her intellectual process. Having a female on the team helped to balance the testosterone levels which often interfered with rational thought. Greg Willis had been in Vice with Raif and had gladly followed him to the new unit. Willis went to school at Baylor and was a bit nerdy, but his attention to detail during a crime scene inspection was meticulous. Mike Waller was the third member of Raif’s team. Raif didn’t mind that Waller was a beefcake who could bench-press three hundred and fifty pounds. Muscle on the team never hurt, but he had deliberated over Waller’s request for transfer a few months earlier. It had taken Waller three times to pass the detective test, and Raif questioned his abilities. Something about the guy’s passion for the job lit a spark, and Raif acquiesced.

His team had been working their latest case for two months. The degree of torture to which the perp was subjecting women was escalating, and Raif was certain one of his victims would end up DOA.

At least five assaults were attributed to this particular rapist. When two women from different sections of the city reported they had gone to dinner at Chez Française within a week of their attack, Raif became suspicious and requested his team search for other similarities in a dozen recent cases. No other rape victims had been to the fancy French restaurant, but three of the women reported they had frequented clubs or restaurants in the same historic warehouse district, fondly referred to as the West End, in a time span ranging from one to three weeks prior to their attack. In addition, each one of them had driven a car and had used the services of a parking valet. Beyond the connection of the valet, there seemed to be no presence of a standardized MO. Although weight and height worked out to be similar, the perp’s disguise differed in each scene ranging from a ski mask to hosiery to a Halloween mask. And because he always wore latex gloves and a condom, no tangible evidence was readily available. In each instance, the guy’s degree of force grew more violent. His two most recent victims had ended up hospitalized, one with blunt force trauma to the head from what she thought might have been a flashlight, and the other from knife wounds to her arms and legs. All the victims reported the same behavior: the rapist assaulted her vaginally, waited a short period of time, and then committed sodomy.

In only one case, the fourth report, had the rapist allowed seminal fluid to leak from his condom. DNA analysis did not find a match to any existing files, however. Raif’s team had often questioned whether it was the same doer because his choice of weapons was never the same: a knife, a gun, a rope, even a can of acid, were each used to threaten the victims into submission. Despite the doubts, Raif’s gut told him it was the same ingenious guy and he would not stop.

Raif checked his watch again. He had been in the parking lot for an hour and figured the stakeout might last all night. Susan’s image popped into his head again—the image of a drop-dead gorgeous woman. Okay, okay, what do you want? You keep showing up when I least expect it, so you must want something from me. We’ve had three dates, all of which were disasters, but you say you’re up for giving it another try. I find you out with Mr. Body Builder, and you’re so cool about it I think you’re messing with my head. You got it all, Little Miss Rich Girl, brains and beauty, so why do want to play games? Well, Susan, I don’t know if I have the time or the energy for your games and I especially don’t have the money. As my Uncle Tim used to say, ‘You’re kin to me, son. If you have to do more than wink, don’t waste your time.’

Frustrated, he slammed the steering wheel and forced himself to think about something other than the maddening woman. He started reminiscing about the night three weeks before when he had fallen asleep at his desk and awoke around two in the morning to the sound of jingling. The janitor was emptying the trash can in his office and the ponderous set of keys he kept lashed to his belt dangled and clinked with his every move. At first, Raif was annoyed by the sudden intrusion into his catnap. The meddlesome keys bothered him in a subliminal way, preventing his nap from taking hold. When the correlation snapped, he slapped his forehead and telephoned Gillmore.

No, sir, I wasn’t doing anything…except sleeping, she responded groggily. Where do I meet you?

No, no, we don’t have a new case. I have an assignment for you first thing in the morning. Round up all the house keys from the victims in the serial we’re working on and get them to Forensics. Tell them it’s an emergency and you want results in an hour. You got that?

Gillmore’s male sleeping mate moaned from the other side of the bed, and she put her hand over the receiver so her boss couldn’t hear. Yes, sir, I’ll get on it first thing in the morning. Is that all?

Yeah, sorry to have disturbed you. Raif put his head back down on the desk to resume his nap. At noon the next day he was in the Forensics lab bugging the staff for results.

The director of the lab told him, Yep, I think you’re on the right track. There’s a trace element of the same green compound on these four keys, but I couldn’t find anything on the fifth set. I’ll confirm it with you later today, but I’ve examined this commercial compound before and I’m positive it’s Playdough. Unless your perp is working in a toy store, I suspect he’s still playing with Gumby.

As soon as he told his team about the discovery, they put their talented heads together and gave the doer a pseudonym: Doughboy. Upon completing the significant task of moniker dubbing, the team began to assemble the clues. The valet service was definitely the link between the cases, and it became a mere process of elimination to determine which valet was making duplicates of keys utilizing his personal supply of Playdough. Their research landed them three suspects: a twenty-one year-old, straight-A student who was attending SMU; a thirty-six year-old family man and baggage-handler who had recently been laid off from American Airlines; and a twenty-nine year-old man who worked the valet job in addition to his full-time job as a call center employee for a credit card company, a job he had maintained for ten years. Any one of them could fit the profile because—there was no standard profile for a rapist. Raif ordered the interior of each vehicle belonging to the victims be dusted for fingerprints, especially the glove box and wherever the registration might be maintained. Since no fingerprints had been found inside of any of the homes or apartments, consistent with the victims reporting the doer had worn latex gloves, there was no evidence to which to compare the prints. However, fingerprints from the various vehicles matched each other. As his first assignment working undercover as a parking lot attendant, Corporal Waller lifted fingerprints from each of the three suspects by pilfering their empty Pepsi cans.

I won, I won the pot, Gillmore bragged when Forensics handed them the results of the fingerprint analysis which proved the call-center guy, Malcolm Slatter, was the Doughboy. I knew it was bachelor number three. He works two jobs to support his sick mother and his live-in aunt; started junior college, but never finished; has a girlfriend who works at Burger King, not what you would call a beauty queen, and I’d say he doesn’t want to commit. I did a casual walk-by of the parking lot the other evening and observed him. He never looks at the young or attractive women, keeps his head down and snarls. He gives me the creeps. Gillmore shivered and held out her hand for the winnings of the team’s wager. Okay, you guys, time to fork over the cash.

Raif pulled a twenty out of his wallet and handed it to Gillmore.

Lt. Keegan, sir, I’ve got an idea for a sting, Gillmore offered. She was excited about the prospect of going undercover.

Let’s hear it, Gillmore. I wanna get this low life scum and put him away for life.

Me, too, that’s why I want to catch him in the act, you know, make sure his lawyers can’t get him off because we don’t have enough circumstantials. And so, the Catch a Doughboy plan was hatched and Gillmore was set as bait.

Raif’s head snapped backward, a jerk causing him to wake with a start and return to the present. After wiping the drool oozing from the corner of his mouth, he opened the window to let in some cool air. It was 1:30 a.m., and still no call from Waller. The strong coffee he poured from the thermos he prepared earlier in the evening was still hot and provided the shot of caffeine he needed. God, I hope Gillmore was right-on with her teasing vixen routine. Get this guy hopped up with a saucy red dress, an insincere smile, and an expensive car. Flash something in his face he knows he can’t have. It’s exactly the circumstance which turns on most rapists: the power trip of knowing he brought down the bitch who thinks she’s better than he is.

Headlights shown into the parking lot. The driver performed a U-turn, parked at the other end of the lot, and killed the headlights. No one exited the car. Raif hunkered farther into his seat and watched. Finally, a voice on the radio squawked, Doughboy has left the lot. Repeat, Doughboy has left the lot. Am following at safe distance. Suspect is headed north, away from his place of residence. Waller over and out. Raif acknowledged Waller’s report and radioed Willis that the ETA for the suspect could be any minute and to stand by.

Raif couldn’t distinguish the inhabitant of the car at the other end of the lot, and it made him nervous when no one exited. If a couple was making out or having a quarrel, it might scare the Doughboy off and ruin the sting. Another radio announcement from Waller interrupted his worried thoughts. Suspect appears to be headed in your direction. Repeat, headed in your direction driving a nineteen ninety-one green Honda Civic. Suspect is making a stop, pulling into what appears to be an auto-service garage. Will stand by.

Another thirty minutes dragged by until an additional report was received from Waller. Raif made two assumptions regarding the delay: either the deal was off or the suspect was in the process of gathering the evil tools of his trade.

Suspect is on the move again, proceeding in a northerly direction. Am turning off to take another route so as not to be detected by the suspect. Waller out. Waller’s proficient, by-the-book reports, never failed to lighten Raif’s mood.

When another set of headlights slowly rounded the corner, Raif’s heart rate doubled. He unsheathed his thirty-eight and removed the safety. A Honda Civic circled the parking lot, slowed down as it passed the other car, but kept moving. He swore to himself, Damn, he’s leaving…no…he’s parking under the trees. Okay, now get out you creep and do your stuff.

After killing the lights and engine, the Doughboy opened his car door, retrieved a long object wrapped in cloth, and began walking toward the stairwell leading to Gillmore’s apartment. Raif radioed Willis to give him a step-by-step progress. He’s on his way up…get ready…he’s at the door…putting on his gloves and mask…inserting the key…Willis, Gillmore, take it easy, let it happen…okay, he’s opening the door. Raif started to open his own car door in order to cover the action from the rear when he noticed the door to the car at the other end of the lot open and a lone man exit. The man was carrying something long and shiny and he began walking toward the same building as the first man. When he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he pulled something black out of his back pocket and pulled it over his head. Jesus Christ, there’s two of them, Raif muttered to himself. I can’t radio Willis and Gillmore again because the first guy’s already inside and he’ll hear the radio and get spooked. Got to wait until the second guy is inside.

Opening his car door at the moment was risky, but he had to get up there. Raif slipped the keys out of the ignition, turned off the dome light, and eased open the door. Immediately, he squatted on the ground and waited for a reaction. The man didn’t turn. Raif kept to the shadows as he made his way to the building. Hugging the external wall with his gun pointed in the air, he turned the corner and crept under the stairwell. He