William Bernhardt - Cruel Justice

Ben tried to restrain himself. “Pardon me, but could we talk about the murder? I want to make sure I understand this. You actually saw the murder? Like, with your own eyes?”

“R-right.”

“Why on earth haven’t you mentioned this before now? Like ten years before now?”

“Well, this is the really strange, embarrassing part, Mr. Kincaid. To tell you the truth—I forgot about it.”

“ You forgot ?”

“I know that sounds impossible, but it’s true.” She walked across the tiny office to the window. “It was such a shock, such a horrible, horrible thing. I must have just—blocked it out of my mind somehow.”

“But how could you—”

“I can’t possibly explain it in any way that makes sense. I just know I didn’t remember. My memory was unreliable. It was playing tricks on me. Can you imagine?”

Without thinking, Ben withdrew a photograph from his pocket. It was the photo of him, at age three, and his father, tickling him, both of them laughing hysterically, having a wonderful time.

“I’ll do my best,” Ben said quietly. “Now sit down and tell me the whole story. From the beginning.”

61

MIKE TRIED TO LOOK tough as he swaggered down the dark city streets of Tulsa’s North Side. He walked with his hips first, his trench coat flapping, a bounce in his step and a toothpick between his lips. Don’t mess with me, he told the denizens of the night (and they were out there; he knew they were). I’m bad. Very bad. Bad for your health.

Okay, so maybe the toothpick didn’t add that much, but he had gone almost two weeks without lighting that damn pipe and he wasn’t going to stop now. Personally, he had always thought his pipe smoking inoffensive, even charming, debonair, but it was clear to him that the rest of the world no longer shared his sentiment. He was tired of standing by himself at parties. And it had been months since he’d been out on a date

Months? Truth to tell, he hadn’t been on a date since he saw Julia the last time, and he wasn’t sure that could be classified as a date. After all, she was his ex-wife. And there was the minor detail that she was still married to another man at the time.

At the time. No longer. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never understand that woman. Which would be okay, if he could just forget. But memories were funny things. Some of them were gone the next day. And some of them lingered like an albatross, haunting the shadowy recesses of your brain, refusing to set you free.

Just like Julia herself.

He had perfected this macho strut (so he hoped) during the time he had spent doing undercover work in many of these same North Side neighborhoods. Then, it hadn’t been just an affectation. It was a survival technique.

Speaking of survival, if Chief Blackwell found out what Mike was doing, his would be at an end. Blackwell had been giving press conferences all morning announcing that the child molester was dead. All the news shows carried the story. How could they resist? A handsome, wealthy, charity-working socialite turns out to be a pedophile who accidentally kills himself while indulging in deviant dangerous solo sex. A journalist’s dream.

So now the city of Tulsa assumed the pedophile’s reign of terror was over. Parents breathed a sigh of relief. Mike had already been replaced as Abie’s personal bodyguard, and the watch on Abie was to be terminated, effective nine o’clock tomorrow morning. It was all over. But …

But what if they were wrong?

The question continued to haunt Mike.

There was only one way to know for sure, and that was to find the apartment, the place where the pervert took Abie. If Bentley hadn’t planned to die, he wouldn’t have removed all his pedophilic paraphernalia. There had to be evidence there that would tell them for certain who the man was.

The only trouble was finding it.

Mike could probably spend his nights, maybe even his days, looking for this place, but he also wanted someone to watch Abie after the police watch terminated. He couldn’t do both. Especially without tipping off Blackwell. Which meant he couldn’t use any of the other men on the force.

Well, he had until nine before he had to worry about Abie. For now, he was going to try to find the damn apartment.

Airplanes, Abie had said. I saw airplanes in the sky. Real airplanes. Overhead.

Assuming that he wasn’t hallucinating, which was possible, since he had been drugged, Abie must’ve been somewhere near the airport, Tulsa International, on the North Side between Sheridan and Memorial. Problem was, the airport was surrounded on all sides by residential and commercial properties of all shapes and sizes. Abie’s description eliminated nothing.

Well, if police work were easy, then everyone would be doing it, right? Mike had taken a map of Tulsa and drawn a series of concentric circles around the airport, ever widening. He walked the lines systematically, moving outward from the airport. Eventually, he would have to come across the place where the maniac took Abie.

He just hoped he knew it when he saw it.

He turned a corner and was immediately approached by an emaciated young woman in a green halter top, short-shorts, and a white billowy scarf. Granted, it was hot, even at night, but her attire was a bit scanty even for August.

“Wanna have a party?’ she asked, stepping closer to Mike than would normally be deemed appropriate in polite society.

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I’ll show you a good time.”

“Thanks, but I’m really not interested.”

“Bet I could make you interested.” She wrapped her scarf around his neck and pulled him closer to her. “What do you say, you handsome devil, you?’

Of course, Mike thought, the easiest way out of this would be to simply utter three words: I’m a cop. But that would undoubtedly throw her into a panic, and maybe her pimp, too, wherever he was lurking. Vice squads always worked in pairs, and for good reason. Plus, if he identified himself, he had an obligation to haul her in. He didn’t want the word to get around that the cops were soft on hookers. But he didn’t want to mess with an arrest right now; he had more urgent concerns.

“Look, lady, I’m sure it would be heaven on earth, but I just don’t have time right now.” He gently pushed her away. “I’ll take a rain check, okay?’

“You’re making a big mistake.”

“I know. By the way, do you work this area often?”

“Every night, lover boy.”

“I don’t suppose … you wouldn’t’ve happened to have seen …”

“Spit it out, handsome.”

“Have you ever noticed any trolls in the area?”

The young woman gave him a long look. “Trolls?” Mike felt his face flushing. “Yes, trolls. You know, cute short little guys …”

“My man Eduardo is barely five foot. We call him the Stump. That isn’t why, though.”

“No, I mean real trolls. Like from a fairy tale or something.”

“You believe in fairy tales, handsome?”

“Maybe a picture of trolls? A poster? A sign?”

“Sorry. Doesn’t ring any bells.” She smiled at him again. “You sure you wouldn’t like a quickie? I think you could use some peace of mind.”

“No, thanks.” He walked past her and continued in the same direction. Poor kid—she was probably a runaway, probably a junkie. A while back he and Ben had had some close dealings with teenage prostitutes. Closer than he ever wanted to have again. It wasn’t a pretty picture.

He tried to clear his mind. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. He was going to keep at it, until he was done, until he found what he was looking for. Until he knew Abie was safe.