The Promise: An Archer Meade Novel

About the Book

This is the second book of a series. It documents the early days of Archer Meade’s rise to rank of Homicide Detective and his partnership with Rusty MacGowan. Together they seek the perpetrator of a vicious and hidious crime. Throughout the quest Archer experiences the spiritual guidance of his partner through a surrigate want to be detective while facing hatred, mental illness, misunderstandings, and familial dysfunctionality.

About the Author

Robert Scarry is a modern Renaiscence Man. While working as a construction employee he earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Biology and became an educator at every level ranging from fifth grade through college students. He obtained a Ph.D. in Microbiology and was a medical Laboratory Director before founding and serving as CEO of an Indoor Environmental Consulting Company. He is currently retired in Texas and enjoys family gatherings with his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren

Contents

Acknowledgements

About the Book

About the Author

Prolog

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Epilog

Other Titles by Robert L. Scarry

Contact Robert L. Scarry

Prolog

The mood in the room was somber as the recently appointed Chief of Police, Bernard Snyder, rose from his chair on the makeshift stage at the front of St. Patrick’s Church. He approached the draped podium, adjusted the microphone, and silently looked about the assembly of police officers, firemen, City and State dignitaries, teary-eyed citizens, and members of the press. He raised his right hand and swept it across the span of his audience. Each first responder in this room raise your hand, he commanded in a slightly quivering voice.

The first response was slow. A few hands were raised, and then a contagious effort soon had everyone in the front twenty pews of the massive church sitting upright with an arm extended toward the heavens. Now look about you at the men and women who have identified themselves, the statuesque black man continued. There are statistics that suggest before this year ends at least one of you will be the reason for an assembly similar to this one. According to the Law Enforcement Officers Memorial Fund, an organization that documented the death of all officers who made the ultimate sacrifice in the line of duty; since the first such sacrifice occurred in 1791, more than twenty thousand officers have fallen prey to evil. On average one police officer in the U.S.A. dies every fifty-eight hours in the line of duty. We do not have comparable statistics for our firefighters and paramedics. For them the horrors come in a multitude of shapes, it is not just some evil being bent on another’s demise; it is the unexpected, often unpreventable circumstance of their job which claims their lives. At The World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, just a few months ago, four hundred and five first responders died; of those, three hundred forty-five were firefighters and paramedics. And speaking of the unexpected, one fireman was killed by the body of a man leaping from an upper floor. Chief Snyder paused letting the statistics speak for themselves. Please put your hands back down, he finally whispered. Today we mournfully raise the statistical count as we include Officer Gerald McGowan, known to many of you as Rusty, to the roll of Officers who met their calls and sacrificed their lives in the line-of-duty.

Archer Meade, visibly shaken by the mention of Rusty McGowan, seemed to implode. His body felt as though it had gone hollow. There was no internal support for his slouched frame and with an uncontrolled shudder he tearfully exhaled the residual air from an already deflated chest. His relationship with Detective McGowan was not unique, but to him it was very special. Meade recalled his introduction to his post as a young, inexperienced detective. The savvy McGowan took him under a wing and applied some of the harshest discipline a mentor could dispense. Meade realized quickly this was what his grandmother used to call tough love and took it all in stride. The methods were sometimes difficult to bear, and the rules were at times impossible to understand, but the lessons were priceless. Meade sighed and took a deep breath as he recalled rule number one, you may disagree with anything I say, but you will always respect my opinion and follow my directions when I tell you to do something. There are no exceptions to this, he had emphasized. Meade remembered thinking such an attitude was arrogant until midway through their first assignment as partners. Had the rule not been in place and had he not followed Rusty’s rule his career would have been a short one.

Chief Snyder’s words faded as Meade began to relive his experiences with his now deceased partner. He remembered how he made an effort to arrive early the first morning after promotions were posted. He had been alerted that his was the highest scored examination for the rank of detective. He had been given the opportunity to request a division; as expected he requested homicide. He remembered his disappointment when he saw the bulletin board was draped to prevent premature release of assignments until the Chief of Detectives could provide the information to all members of his force at the same time. He remembered how anxious all the new detectives were and how old timers seemed to purposely drift in just late enough to get everyone’s nerves on edge. Finally the drape was removed and he saw that he indeed was assigned to homicide and was partnered with Detective Gerald McGowan.

Meade recalled thinking he had been set up. He was partnered with the toughest person in the department, and his pair was assigned the first case of the new session. It was the kind of case that caused many young detectives to request returning to a beat. A thirteen year-old eighth grader was discovered behind a dumpster two blocks away from the middle school she attended. A relatively old Asian man saw her feet extending from the rear of the dumpster when he was discarding the remains of seafood used to produce the stock he prepared daily. He was so upset he dropped the container and its contents had splashed into the crime scene and onto the girl’s body. The man was so upset he walked about in a small circle slapping his face and head mumbling something in Chinese. Detective McGowan told Meade to stay away from the old man. Though he was tempted to grab the man to calm him he remembered Detective McGowan’s emphatic reminder to follow his directions at all times. Suddenly the old man produced a knife from some unknown place and began thrashing it about. When Detective McGowan brandished his weapon and shouted for the frantic man to drop the knife, the elderly man raised it and with a single quick move opened his throat directly through his larynx. Meade saw the blood pulsing from the incision and with the throat cut half way through he saw the trachea quiver as air from his lungs caused foam to form in the pooling blood.

The man’s suicide vaulted him to primary suspect of the young girl’s death; why else would he have ended his life so dramatically? A witness told Rusty the old mad was shouting, It was my fault, as he paced. Meade recalled Rusty questioned the man’s daughter and learned her father had owned the hole-in-the-wall restaurant for fifteen years. She said he had never missed a single day in the restaurant’s kitchen except six years ago when her little sister died. She told the two detectives her sister was excited about a straight A report card and ran to her father with it held above her head. She slipped on a grease spill, slammed into the stove and caused a boiling pot to tip and pour its contents on to the girl. She was badly burned over seventy percent of her body. While being treated she developed a severe infection and died. The old man never forgave himself for her death.

The detectives concluded the sight of the young girl behind the dumpster with the content of his pot covering the prostrate body was sufficient cause for the old man to snap. Subsequent detective work determined a seventeen year old neighbor killed the girl. The girl had witnessed the boy stealing a six-pack of beer from a Convenience Store and threatened to expose him.

Rusty used the experience to teach his young partner two important lessons. First, never underestimate the human ability to commit evil; and second, not all evil is predictable. Meade snapped out of his reverie as he sensed the room-wide shuffle of the audience following the chief’s eulogy. It would have been his turn to move his wheelchair to the front of the group and deliver a series of memories and accolades had he not requested otherwise. He was certain it would be impossible to prevent the loss of control; he feared making a scene! Instead, he would keep his promise now several years in arrears. He would direct his attention to unraveling the single unsolved case he and Rusty had worked.

Chapter 1

During the three years Archer Meade and Rusty McGowan had been partners Meade had never seen his partner express the emotions he was now displaying. Meade watched his partner gingerly place the telephone back on the cradle and cover his face with both palms. Rusty McGowan was an old school hard Irish cop who rarely displayed any emotions other than anger. This was extreme; it bordered on complete resignation. The easy explanation was the telephone call had been personal and the message was not good. Meade braced himself when detective McGowan rose from his chair, turned to look at him and began walking in his direction. When his partner arrived he stopped, placed both palms on Meade’s desk, leaned forward and whispered, We got a case, I’ll meet you at the door. Officer Rusty McGowan walked across the squad room and through the double doors into the reception area. He leaned against the wall and waited while his young partner removed his Sig Sauer p226 from the top drawer of his desk and directed the magazine containing 15 rounds of 40 cal into position. He fingered the decocking button and placed the loaded pistol, in the holster resting against the small of his back. He was sliding his arm into the tweed jacket as he left the squad room. Rusty McGowan did not speak as he turned and slowly led the way through the precinct door to an overcast sky.

The ride to North Memorial Hospital was equally quiet. After a brief explanation of the pending crime scene Archer Meade was as distraught as his partner. Three infants in the newborn nursery were discovered in their bassinettes lying in pools of blood. All three had been decapitated. I can’t imagine who would do such a deed, detective McGowan had said before he squeezed his eyelids shut and bit his upper lip. Arriving at the hospital neither man was anxious to enter the preserved crime scene.

The hallway leading to the nursery was crowded with hospital personnel. Most onlookers wore an expression of shock, many were dabbing their eyes to remove tears threatening to race down wet cheeks.

A sobbing nurse was explaining to a television reporter and camera man how she had seen another nurse lift a bloody blanketed body from its bed. The bundle was missing a head. McGowan moved to the interview and stepped between the interviewing team and the trembling nurse. He reached up with both hands; his left to the reporter’s right shoulder and his right to the camera man’s left shoulder. With slight pressure he drew the two men together and toward him. With his face inches from the reporter’s face he explained the people in this hospital had experienced the most horrific event they were ever going to experience; they had witnessed the slaughter of innocents.

McGowan then turned to the camera man and said, Turn that camera off. You people are here to exploit this terrible event for the sole purpose of TV Ratings. If I see that little red light even flicker I’m going to take that camera and shove it up your ass. Now get out of here you are contaminating an active crime scene. McGowan then without any sign of anger turned and walked to Meade. He knew there was no need to verify the TV Crew’s compliance; they would leave with a really bad attitude. I know that was a bit over the top, but let me explain, he said to Meade who was standing with gaping mouth at his partner. Every crime has an unlimited number of victims. Some less effected than others, but all of them are in someway affected. I find itmy duty to appease the feelings of guilt and helplessness to as many of them as I can when I can, he explained. "In this instance I wanted to