Games of Guilt: Hidden Guilt

Chapter 1

It had been several weeks since I’d hit the gym. And because of it, I’d already planned on using slightly less weight than I was used to. I sat down on the bench, looked around and then up at the clock. It was a little after midnight, but I always figured better late than never. My calendar had today penned in as my start back to the gym, and I wasn’t going to let the day pass without putting my work in.

My years of playing high school football, then college coupled with my service time, exercise at least some form of it would always be in-grained in me. Not to mention I believed the added muscle made some bad guys think twice before lunging at me. Less fights – less broken bones.

I couldn’t get my mind off of the call I’d gotten from the Jamaican cop Dixon, and the news he’d dropped on me. Not to mention the fact that the news ruined my double date with Miranda, Paul and DeLuca. And essentially left me no choice but to break the promise I’d made to Miranda about leaving work behind. Even if it was only for one night. It had saved my old friend Paul from another night at losing to me in bowling.

As I lay back, I checked the weight on the bar one last time—two twenty-five, ten reps. Let’s get it, Porter. I pushed my earbuds into my ears and cranked up Snoop Dogg’s Gin and Juice as high as I could stand it. My blood was flowing; my heart was racing. Nothing beat the pump and adrenaline rush that lifting weights offered me. After my set, I sat up and looked around. I was the only officer in the gym, so I tossed the earbuds. I walked over to the stereo system and plugged in my iPod. After my four sets of bench presses, I headed for the squat rack. As I got older, I stayed away from many of the smaller muscle groups and focused on the big three, mostly due to time but also as a way to reduce my risk of injury. Like most lifters, I had a love-hate relationship with the squat. While I understand the overall benefit of the exercise, the brutality of hoisting three hundred pounds on your back for forty or fifty reps hurt.

I loaded the bar and waited for the next track, UGK’s Diamonds and Wood, to resonate through the gym. I set the bar back onto the squat rack as I heard the music fade.

What the hell are you still doing here, Porter? Officer Ryder asked with a puzzled look on his face.

I wiped the sweat from my face and pointed to the squat rack. Trying to get a workout in, I said, trying my best to fight back a wisecrack.

Yeah, well, I see that, but it’s midnight.

Two for two, Ryder. Look at you go.

He laughed. Okay, wiseguy. So why are you here at midnight working out instead of at home?

First thirty-minute slot I had available today. No rest for the weary. It was either now or probably the same time tomorrow night, so why not now?

Dr. Dre’s Chronic had just started playing, which meant I’d missed at least one set. I pointed to the squat rack.

Oh, don’t let me stop you, Porter. You sure that’s not too much weight for you, old man? And I just love this musical selection.

Weight is fine. Probably a little on the light side, to be honest. And what, you don’t like the music? What would you prefer, The Beach Boys? Elvis? Led Zeppelin?

Just giving you shit. I like Jay-Z, he said, pointing up as he walked away.

I shook my head and waited for the radio to get cranked back up. I didn’t bother correcting his Jay-Z assertion. I laughed to myself. It was obvious they all sounded alike to him.

I’d already decided I would forgo deadlifting and opt for some low back rows and finish off my workout with a little core work.

It was nearing one a.m. and I still needed to eat a little something before I went to sleep. It felt good to get a workout in and burn off some of my stress.

I went into the locker room and grabbed my keys and duffel bag. December in Houston usually seesawed from day to day, even hour to hour, from seventy-five degrees to fifty degrees and everything in between. Right now it was a cool fifty-five, according to my dashboard display. But despite my cold nature, it felt good to me. No doubt a result of my gym session.

I left the radio off and let my mind wander. I’d started writing my next book, Inside the Mind of a Killer, a few years ago, and I had my mind set on finishing it. I’d even given a submission date to my editor, Susan Hughes. It was a way of creating a deadline that I probably would have ignored otherwise. I wanted to brainstorm some ideas and start cranking out chapters, but my mind was numb. The rollercoaster ride of losing Miranda and then Karen left me pretty empty and utterly focused on doing one thing and one thing only. Caleb was still out there—waiting, watching. No matter how good he thought he was, I intended to catch him.

I pulled into the driveway, turned off my truck, and stared out into my yard. It was quiet and everything still. I slipped into the house and set my cell down on the counter. I grabbed a banana and poured a cup of milk. I could feel soreness creeping in already. I opened the cabinet, looking for the bottle of BCAAs. I finally found them and swallowed a few.

I plopped down on the couch, food in tow. I lay staring up at the ceiling into the pitch blackness of the room. It was nearing two a.m. and I needed sleep. I walked over and grabbed my cell phone just as it rang. Who the hell was calling at two o’clock in the morning? I looked down at the screen—Detective DeLuca. I right-swiped, declining the call, and started constructing a text. When the phone rang again, I answered.

Detective? I said.

Chief Hill wanted me to call you right away. It’s—

It’s what? I asked, more than a little agitated.

It’s Willie Jones, DeLuca said.

Inside I was secretly beaming with joy that DeLuca and my oldest friend Paul, were now an item. Her small frame, dark brown eyes and brunette hair had Paul doomed from the word go. When Captain Wilcrest read me the file on Elena DeLuca, I had to admit that I wasn’t too impressed. But she had grown on me over the last year or so. Sometimes in life you meet people that feel like they’d been lifetime friends. DeLuca for me was one of those people.

I stared outside into the night, one hand on my hip. What about Willie? DeLuca didn’t respond. Am I talking to myself here?

He was murdered earlier tonight, David. I’m sorry.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. What are you talking about? What the hell happened? I mean, what do we know? How long ago did this happen?

They found him a few hours ago. He was strangled to death. Looks like it happened fast. It doesn’t look like he would have suffered much.

Damn. Ol’ Mr. Willie. This is unbelievable. I mean, who the hell would want to hurt that old man? He wouldn’t hurt a fly. And why didn’t someone call me sooner?

Again there was silence on the line.

It was Caleb, David. It was Caleb. He left a note. You’ve been through enough. Everyone knows that. Chief decided to take care of it and spare you as much as he could.

Spare me? I wasn’t some little kid who needed sparing. I’m a goddamn detective. If anything, they needed me to look at the scene. I decided I’d deal with Hill later.

You there? DeLuca asked.

I set the phone down and pounded my fist into my other hand. I took a few steps back and forth then I reached down and picked up the phone again. What did the note say?

Just then, my phone chimed. She’d taken a picture of it and texted it to me. It was one line, no punctuation, and had obviously been cut and pasted from a newspaper or magazine, letter by letter. The words read:

DNA is funny I take lives you try and save them I’m winning

Point made. I let his note sink in a minute. That little—

David, you okay? Talk to me.

As okay as I can be. My dad is going to be crushed, ya know. He and Willie served together. He did a lot of good things for this country. Purple Heart recipient . . . doesn’t matter now, I guess.

Yes, I know. You told me. I’m really sorry, David.

Thanks for the call. See you in a few hours.

I disconnected with her and slammed my phone down on the table.

Mr. Willie had fallen on hard times. Like many war veterans, he had found it difficult to get the help he needed. He was homeless and, among other things, was battling diabetes. All he had in this world were the clothes on his back and the shopping cart he pushed around. He was too proud to ask for help or accept much of it if offered. I’d drive by whenever I could and take him something warm to eat. Even that got rejected from time to time.

As men, we sometimes bite off way more than we can chew. I was going to make damn sure Caleb knew that, for him, this was one of those times. He was going to pay for killing Tom, and he’d pay dearly for killing Mr. Willie.

Chapter 2

I climbed in bed, my body weary, but I was unable to quiet my mind. Memories flooded my brain and threatened once again to drown me as I thought about everything that had happened to me and my family over the last two years. It was amazing that any of us had survived it all. Christmas was right around the corner, and I had so much to be thankful for. My mind still kept flashing back to earlier in the evening. I could hear the thud of the bowling ball crashing by my feet. Dixon’s voice rang out and boomed in my mind over and over.

To top it all off, if the letter Officer Dixon read to me was true, the killer was my own son. And now he’d already killed again. He wanted my attention, and he knew how to get it. This had to be a first—a cop hunting his own murderous, serial-killer son. A first that I was not thrilled to be a part of, not by a long shot. How long had he known about me? I had so many questions, and I wasn’t holding my breath about getting any of them answered. Even after I captured Caleb, I doubted he would talk to me. Could we have a relationship after all of this? Was that even possible? And if it was possible, did I even want such a relationship? If he had indeed killed someone, time would still have to be served. The demons from your past don’t give you a green light to commit future crimes. An explanation, maybe, but certainly not a get-out-of-jail-free card.

I wish more perps understood that. Even more, I wished our criminal justice system involved some type of rehabilitation, especially for the more violent offenders. Stuffing a man in a hole for thirty years of his life is no way to cure the demons inside of him. Had those thirty years in prison strangled that evil out or merely put it on hold? Or even worse, had the time away nurtured the demons instead of taming them? For some, I was willing to bet it had. How many rapists get out only to rape again within the next year? How much blame should the judicial system take for the second and third victims? I often thought our punishment for major crimes was much too lenient. If things had been different, I could have easily been sitting in a cell somewhere for a crime I hadn’t even committed.

My arm was laying on Miranda. She moved it and snuggled up close to me. You don’t always have to save the world, you know? Did I hear you on the phone? Awful late call. Everything okay?

She sure knew how to hit a man in the gut when she wanted to.

I sighed. I don’t know . . . maybe I do have to save the world. It sure as hell feels like it sometimes. It was DeLuca. Someone killed Willie Jones. So, no, I’m not okay.

She rubbed on my chest. You don’t have to solve it all. You don’t have to have all the answers. If you aren’t careful, in a few years I’ll be burying my early-forty-something husband due to heart failure. Or worse, you won’t even make it to forty.

I looked away, tears burning in my eyes. Miranda reached over and turned my head toward her. I’m sorry about Willie. I know how much he meant to you and your family. You have to find a way to be good at what you do and somehow release the stress and tension too. You of all people know what stress does to the body.

Deep down, I understood where she was coming from and, like most times, she was right. I’d been going way too hard for way too long, and if I wasn’t careful something would eventually give. I rolled over and kissed her on the forehead. How in the hell had I gone from this being just a cool job to a career that’d almost cost me everything? Something I had an appetite for, something I couldn’t get enough of. And how old would I be when I walked away from it? Would I ever be able to walk away from it? That’s what scared me the most. You gotta know when to fold ’em.

Hopefully after this is over we can get back to some sense of normalcy. I have to catch this kid first.

Miranda laughed. I’ve been hearing that for almost a decade. We both know there’ll be another sooner or later. And probably sooner. No, definitely sooner.

I nodded. She was right. Again.

It was only a little after 6 a.m., but laying there and pretending to be asleep was no longer helping me. My cell phone was buzzing. Who the hell could it be this time? I reached over and grabbed it off the dresser.  It was DeLuca again.

Tell me you found them already. I need some good news.

Chapter 3

The couple in Jamaica, Willie, and now Tom. Tom Patton, an officer I’d worked with for years on the force, was dead. Murdered. Just like that. When I joined the force Tom and I identified with each other from the start. He’d taken me in and kind of showed me the ropes. It made me think of Denzel and Ethan Hawke in training day without the King Kong ain’t got nothin on me line. As time had worn on Tom and I had drifted apart. And if I was being honest he’d done some things that I didn’t approve of. And if I were being even more honest I guessed I’d probably done a questionable thing or two also along the way. Overall though our careers had taken two vastly different paths. I listened closely to the details. They were sending a message, and I’d received it loud and clear.  These cowards couldn’t understand that their vigilantism was doing more harm than good. Couldn’t understand that they were also the same bad guys they were trying to rid the world of. They wanted to show me that every person in my life was a suitable target. And that they’d been watching me for a long, long time.

Early reports said Tom’s car had been wired with C-4, one of the most explosive substances known to man. The reports indicated he’d driven it into the median right in the middle of the 610 loop. If he knew the car was wired somehow, he probably saved a couple dozen lives too. What a disaster this was going to be.

How many other vehicles involved? I said.

A few, as you can imagine a bomb on a freeway would cause. Only positive here is that this wasn’t five p.m. bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Still terrible. You thinking what I’m thinking? I said.

Probably. Be hard to prove. That car is bound to be burned to a crisp.

Yeah, I know. Family been notified?

Not yet. Cap wants us down there now. I’m about five minutes away from being ready to leave my house.

Why didn’t he call me?

You know why.

I disconnected with DeLuca and tried to soak in what I’d just heard. Captain Wilcrest and Chief Hill were both going to get a piece of my mind about leaving me out of the loop.

I turned to Miranda. Tom Patton was killed a few hours ago.

Oh no! I’m sorry, David. What happened?

Someone strapped his car full of C-4, and he drove it into the median on the 610 loop.

Oh my God, honey! That’s awful. You don’t think . . .

I rolled over and stood up next to the bed. That’s exactly what I think. Now I’ve just got to prove it and find them.

Chapter 4

Tom Patton was a member of the same fraternity I was, albeit in different years. We both played on the department’s semipro football team a few years earlier. I saw Tom at least once every month or so when the guys got together for poker. HPD was over one thousand officers strong. There were literally hundreds of officers who I’d never had direct contact with. It was no shock to me that an officer like Tom was picked. They chose an officer I’d surely miss. Patton had his issues. Some thought he was the devil incarnate, actually. Nothing this pair did was an accident. Proving my theory to be true would be as difficult as turning an atheist into a Bible-thumping, fire and brimstone Baptist preacher. This angered me. So many wasted lives.

As I pulled up to the blockade we had set up, the realness of it all hit me right in my face. I killed the truck, zipped up my jacket, and climbed