Tag Archives: Chiatovich

Chapter Fifty: The Decision

7 Sep

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

 

Lonnie pulled to the side of the road and waited for the cop car to catch up to him. He had a small hope it might be after someone else. It might pass him by. Leaving him shaken but still a free man.

No such luck.

Lonnie looked in his rearview mirror. The cop car pulled up behind him. The driver spoke into his radio. Sat. Waited. Did nothing.

Lonnie became more nervous by the minute. He knew the cop was waiting for backup. Somehow he had expected the cop to come up to him, tell him to get out of the car and lean up against the side of it. He expected to be frisked and put in the back of the squad car, taken down to the police station and booked.

None of that happened.

Nothing happened.

Again Lonnie looked in his rearview mirror at the cop sitting behind the wheel behind him. The cop did not move.
Lonnie began to fidget. He began to tap his finger on the steering wheel. He began to think. He began to tap his foot. He began to count the charges against him.

Car theft. He knew that. They knew that. There were drugs in the car. He knew that. They did not. But they would do a search and find them. Not as if he did anything special to hide them. Like an idiot he somehow assumed he would never get caught.

Lonnie began to rock back and forth. His eyes became fixed on the rearview mirror. On the cop sitting in the car behind him. The cop doing nothing. Nothing.

There were guns in the car. He knew that. They did not. Or did they? Was the cop behind him waiting for a damn swat team who would surround him, just waiting for him to make one single slip so they could blow him to hell?
What if the CIA was on to him? Would they use regular cops to catch him so they could take over?

Of course they would. They would stop at nothing. They killed Cody, didn’t they? They weren’t going to arrest him. They were going to kill him. And he was being stupid enough to sit here in the car and wait for them to do it.

Lonnie couldn’t take the suspense any more. He started the car. The cop in the car behind him looked up. Lonnie jammed the car into reverse. Floored the gas. The car snapped into motion with a jerk, as though it were a football being kicked toward a field goal. The tires spun. They took hold. Grabbed traction. The cop in the car behind him did not have time to start his car when the car Lonnie was driving slammed into it doing zero to sixty in one and one half seconds.

Not only did the trunk of Lonnie’s car do serious damage to the front end of the cop car, it swerved the nose of the cop car well over into the ditch on the side of the road.

Launching into drive Lonnie pressed full on the gas, tires spun and slid raising black burned rubber smoke, before shooting down the road in front of him. For the space of three miles he thought he was free. Then he heard sirens coming from in front of him.

If he were spotted they would give chase.

He had to disappear.

Lonnie aimed the car between two big trees. Killed the lights. Kept on going. The police car screamed down the road beside him. The car Lonnie was driving was scraped and scratched, but still managed to lumber out onto the road.
He no sooner did so than another cop car came toward him. This one did not have sirens wailing so he was not aware of it until it pulled around the corner towards him. The cop car shot out of a horseshoe turn. Straight passed him. As Lonnie entered the turn the cop car was spinning around to come back after him.

In panic Lonnie rounded the turn. He had to slow down. No choice. The cop would have to slow down too or go off the road.

Lonnie went back into the woods between the trees again. Remembered to douse his lights. The cop car turned on his sirens and flashed behind Lonnie. Then Lonnie lurched out onto asphalt again. Turned left.

Then he realised. He was headed back the way he had come.

By then it was too late. He was passing the car he had ruined, and another cop car beside it. They both stared at him as he passed. Soon he had sirens behind him.

Once again he made his own road into the woods. Kept going this time until he found a dirt road. It more or less paralleled the regular road, and headed him back toward the safe house.

If the CIA were after him there was only one possible out. That was to get ahold of that CIA agent and get to the bottom of this before the CIA got to him. It was a scary idea, but if he took the time he could convince himself he could do it. If he needed some fortification he had some mind sharpening drugs right on board. All he needed was a few minutes to get them inside.

He made the decision.

Now he knew what he was going to do.

That was when he heard the helicopter overhead.

 

 

(C) 2014 All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

Chapter Forty — Nine: Solitude

23 Aug

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

 

Ever since the event. Why do I think of it as the event? Why not the day of revenge? The death? The day I found what pleasure really means? The torture. The murder. It doesn’t bother me to think of myself in those terms any more. What I am is no  longer important. What you can prove about me is all that is important. What anyone can prove about me. 

Ever since the event I have found solace, relaxation, satisfaction, and stimulation, in going back to the cabin where it happened. Sitting there, remembering every vivid detail. Maybe that old crock was right about the murderer always returning to the scene of the crime. I certainly did. Sometimes I embellished my imaginings with things I could have done but did not do. That is okay. It was my first time. Couldn’t think of everything. Next time. Next time I will remember them all. 

Tonight there was a mouse. I could hear it scratching somewhere. Wonder what it found to eat. 

Only visited the cabin at night. Didn’t want to get caught. To help I used a cheap, second hand lap top from a thrift store. It is amazing how anonymous you can be in a world without privacy. Went to the airport where thousands of people pass everyday. Ordered myself a ninja outfit using a prepaid credit card you can pick up in any store. Had it delivered to a house that was between renters. Intercept package.

Everything was wrapped in black. Only my eyes showed. In order to find me at night you would need a heat sensing device. 

Possible, but unlikely.

There was that rat again. Knawing on a wall or something. Over by the closet.

 

Chapter Forty — Seven: The Closet

26 Jul
Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

 

 

At some point L C fell asleep.

She woke up when the car bounced over bumpy roads that shook her in the trunk as though she were a shake and bake woman, needing only to be breaded properly.

Eventually the car stopped. Doors slammed. And at long last, the trunk opened. Hands grabbed her, pulling her out of the trunk. She had pictures of being drug somewhere. She weighed one hundred and fifty pounds, which the doctor told her was not seriously over weight for her height, but which she had found many men could not carry.

Her legs were pulled out first. Perhaps her restraints would be cut and she would be allowed to walk.

Or maybe it was a rapist.

She had not given much thought to why she had been kidnapped, or what would be done to her besides killing her and leaving her body in a ditch or something of the like. For a second she had hoped the tape binding her legs would be cut, now she dreaded the idea.

The rest of her body was pulled out of the trunk.

Whoever had her was able to carry her and walk with her. She tried to get some picture of what the person might be like. She was unsuccessful.

She wondered if she were being carried over a threshold like a wedding couple was supposed to do.

Once again she went back to the problem of why she was being kidnapped. Could it have to do with why she was in jail? Nothing she could think of made sense to her.

The person, she was sure it was a man, somewhat thin, dumped her into a chair with a plop. It felt like a wooden kitchen chair. It hurt her hands, which were at the small of her back.

Rope was looped around her chest. She was being tied to the chair. When her upper body was secure the abductor turned attention to her legs. Rope was tied around her ankles and pulled back. After all that was done she was poked and prodded as though to make sure she could not move.

A voice was mumbling. She wondered if there might be more than one, but she could not hear anyone else. Nor did the voice seem to be directed to anyone else, not even her. It sounded most like the voice of a person trying to make sense of written directions. Like her father would make when he put together a bicycle for her from a box. Her father loved it when things were obvious enough he could put things together without needing to make sense of the directions.

She wondered if her kidnapper were reading directions on how to tie knots.

When she was secure in her chair it was tilted backwards as though she was going to fall. A seconds worth of new fear hit her. Then she was being drug.

Tilted up again. She was being pushed into a place.

You’ll be okay in here until I get back.” A voice told her. “You can scream and yell all you want now. Nobody around here to hear you. But it will be a while before I get back with food. You might not want to tire yourself out.”

A door was closed on her. She was sure then she was in a closet because the door pressed against her shins hard as it was slammed too. Something was done outside to secure it.

There were footsteps, then silence.

Two miles a way Tom drove the pickup up a back road well away from people or cabins so his brother-in-law and his pain in the ass dog would not distract them from what they had come up here to do: Hunt. The dog looked steadily in the direction of the cabin where the dead man had been.

Five miles away a little dog named Rocko went up to a window, scratching at the pane and barking, trying with all of its three-pound weight to force its way through the glass. Aunt Emerald picked him up, scratched him absently behind the ear and peered outside. In the background the parakeet, Tabby, barked twice, then shut up.

Aunt Emerald saw nothing. There was nothing to see.

©2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Forty — Six: Normal Disturbance

21 Jun
Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

 

Morgan and Delavera pulled into the parking lot. Someone had called in a disturbance. No one seemed to know what was going on. The neighborhood wasn’t the worst part of town but it was on a down hill run and headed there fast. The parking lot was in back, behind the store; dark and gloomy, with an array of litter scattered across the asphalt. It was large enough for eight or ten cars. Bushes and a broken fence with holes big enough to walk through, and an alley on the other side of that.

A paradise for drug dealers, pimps, and muggers. When they got out of the car both Delavera and Morgan kept their hands close to their belts. People stood around staring at the two of them. A neighborhood where people appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Anybody see what happened?” Morgan asked in his most policeman like bellow. Most of the people just kept staring at him. He figured those were the ones who didn’t have any outstanding wants or warrants. There were others. Shadows who did not want to be seen. Fully arrestable on sight people.

“Man and a woman had a fight. Happens all the time. Don’t know why anybody called it in.” Said a man in a long brown coat.

“Maybe because there are laws against beating up on women?” Delavera said from just behind the headlights. “Who called it in?”

An older woman, obviously drunk, probably in her seventies, spoke up with conviction and no fear. “He was holding her down. I couldn’t tell what he was doing to her. She was laying on the ground and he was rolling her around. I said, ‘Young man you should stop that,’ but he acted like he didn’t hear me.”

“Probably her pimp frisking her for money,” said a young man. Most of the bystanders laughed.

“Did you get a look at him?” asked Morgan.

“No. I didn’t stay around. I went across the street to my friend’s house and called the police from there.”

“Did you see what kind of car they left in?”

“Young man, I just told you. I went across the street to call you people. It is your job to take care of these things, not mine. Besides it is too dark back here to see anything anyway. I told the store owner there ought to be a law making him put lights back here.”

“I agree with you, ma’m. Okay. We’ll make a report as best we can.”

Before they left the spoke to the owner of the store. Delavera asked him, “You got no lights back there. You got no video cameras. You know it is dangerous for your customers back there?”

The store owner looked her, his black and rock hard, hers soft brown, “What do you want me to do, lady, scare all of my customers off?”

 

(c) 2014, all rights reserved

 

Chapter Forty — Five: Silence is Frozen

14 Jun

 

 

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

 

The car drove for a ways, then bounced horribly. Stopped. The engine turned off. Silence. The door opened. Silence. The door closed. Silence. Some gravel crunched.

Silence.

Oh, my God. I never told anybody where I am. The Langlins are in Europe. They won’t be thinking about me. They wont even want to think about me until they come back and I’ve proven myself innocent. The lawyer won’t think about me until I don’t show up for trial. Nobody knows where I went to but the lawyer. It will be days before anybody realizes I’m missing.

Oh, my God. Oh my God. The killer kidnapped me. The cops are going to think I skipped the country. It will be years before they find my body and the case is reopened because they find out their mistakes.

Oh, my God. They may never find my body. Oh, my God. They will never know who the real killer is. The Langlins, My mother, Auntie Em, they will all think I did it. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

OhMyGod!

After a few minutes, in the pitch black trunk, hearing nothing except her own thoughts and fears, panic engulfed L C. She began to kick her legs, buck her body, and make as much noise through her gag as she was able. The more she moved the more panic overtook her. Soon she was an unthinking mass of frantic movement and noise.

Then there was a solid banging on the back of the trunk.

L C froze. Both mind and body.

Silence.

She waited. She was sweating. Her breathing was ragged, almost hurting her nose as the drove in, out, in, out, in heaving blasts.

A voice came through the trunk. “Do you want me to beat you to a bloody pulp with a tire iron?”

Fear gutted her from the bottom of her stomach to her mouth.

“Answer me.”

Her first thought was, “How do I answer.” Her mouth was stuffed with something that prevented her from making intelligible sounds.

“If I open this trunk you will regret it.”

She yelled “NO!” as best she could through her gag.

“You make one more sound and I’m opening this trunk and beating you senseless so you can’t make any more sounds. Do you understand?”

Her mind raced. Is that a trick question? He just told me if I make one more sound he will beat me with a tire iron. Then he says make one more sound. What do I do? What do I do?

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“YES!” Losing control she fairly screamed the answer.

Silence.

Something scraped. She flinched thinking the trunk was going to open any second now. It didn’t.

It was dark. L C Was sweaty. She could smell her own fear. She began to shake. She was a tiny little girl again in a big dark bedroom, and there was something horrible in the closet. Daddy was gone and mommy was asleep and didn’t hear her.

 

 
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

 

 

Chapter Forty — Four: The Ride

7 Jun
Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

The lawyer told L C to stay low, not attract attention, and avoid the press. She had a microwave, a TV, and a small refrigerator. Still she needed some food and something to read. It was a neighborhood where a lot of people dressed so as to be “invisible.” It was not uncommon to see people walking slouched over, wearing hoods so you had a hard time seeing their faces, shoulders and arms bowed forward so you could not tell from looking at their chest if they were male or female.

She sat in her room, with the lights out, looking out the window.

She decided she could do that. She rolled her hair up and tucked it out of sight, waited unill the sun set and the world outside was in dull quiet shadow only broken occasionally by someone yelling or honking. She missed her little dog Rocko.

The store was open after dark. It was less than a block away. It had everything she could need. Food, drinks, magazines, and a shelf of paperback books.

She went ahead and used her debit card, wondering how long her money would last. Enough to last a week, maybe.

As she left the store the only thing on her mind was getting back to the room. When she rounded the corner of the store, one step past the driveway into the parking lot, something rammed into her, driving her into the unlit parking lot.
She dropped her bag. She started to yell. A fist hit her in the stomach. She found herself bent over looking at the cement. She looked up, trying to see her assailant. Another fist hit her in the chin.

She went down.

When she came to she was being rolled into the trunk of a car, her bag of groceries being dumped on top of her. Her hands were duct taped. Her feet and legs were duct taped. A cloth something was in her mouth and duct tape applied over it as an after thought. Duct tape was wrapped around her eyes. Someone was going through her clothing picking out her cell phone, billfold, room key.

As the trunk slammed down, closing her into total blackness, she thought, “That sure as hell isn’t a reporter.”
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Forty — Three: Understanding Oneself

1 Jun

 

 

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

Okay, I think I’ve got it figured out.

Why I never killed anything in my life before. Why I was afraid to kill anything. Why I was so squeamish. I was murder phobic. I knew, subconsciously, what I was. And I knew, also subconsciously, that if I never did it I would never become it.

That didn’t sound right.

That sounded muddled.

Some men are homophobic. Some men are so non-homophobic they can do things that would embarrass a homosexual and it still never effects their basic heterosexual nature. Now I know. Not all homophobes, maybe. But some of them. They know deep down that if they ever kissed another man, if they ever had sex with another man, they would lose control, and from then on all they would ever want was another man.

Some of us fear other things.

Some.

Somewhere deep down I knew. If I ever killed anything, If I ever tortured something, someone. I would never want to stop.

So maybe that kid in class, the one you teased because they refused to dissect the frog… Maybe they are the wuss you thought they were. But maybe they are a murder phobic latent psycho murderer who secretly knows in their heart of hearts what they really are.

And maybe, if they are like me, and they hated you enough, perhaps they are considering you as their next victim.

I am.

Chapter Forty — Two: The CIA Agent

24 May

 

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

 

Lonnie had been out to the safe house several times. Nothing. A window had been broken and a squirrel moved in. Other than that it was uninhabited, unvisited, and hardly worth going back too.

 
He was pretty sure he was suffering from depression. Since Cody’s murder he had been getting higher more often and stealing more cars, not just oftener but more desirable. The kind that brought in better money.

 

The guy who bought the cars from him was proud of him. Something Cody said was a bad sign. “Means you are doing it too often. You are playing with fire. Cops will start looking for patterns until one day you go to break into a car and they are waiting for you.” Until Cody’s death what Cody said was what Lonnie did. Now. It didn’t seem to matter.

 
Right now he was doing something else Cody had told him never to do. Cody said, “You heist a car you get in it, you get it where it is going, you get out of it. Never look back.”

 
Now he was doing what Cody told him only a fool on a suicide mission would do. He was stealing chick mobiles, cruising town in them, and picking up girls in them.”

 
He was driving slow checking out everybody. Looking for some promising action.

 
That was how he spotted the CIA agent.
He whipped into the parking lot. Got out of the car, and headed toward the street, trying to figure out what to do next.

 
Right now Lonnie wanted to be really really clear. To think perfectly. To be more brilliant than he had ever been before in his life. To be able to see and understand things normal people leading normal lives would miss.
Lucky for Lonnie. Even though Cody had told him never to mix his crimes, to never be loaded or have drugs anywhere near you when you boosted a car… Well, Cody didn’t know everything or he wouldn’t be dead, would he.

 

Lonnie reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. He smiled. This was some of the best shit. It made the world a pane of glass you could look through.

 

With this he could think his way through anything.

 

© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Forty — One: Bag Nanny Anonymous

17 May
Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

 

 

“Where would you like me to drop you?” asked Tulkhorn. He sat behind the wheel, somehow giving the impression he was guiding a tank through enemy territory rather than driving a car through town.
For some reason it was a question L C had not anticipated. Her only concern had been getting out of jail. For some strange reason she thought that once she was released from the nightmare she had been subjected to everything would go back to normal.
Now she realized. Released. Standing in front of the courthouse. Tulkhorn holding the door of his modest car open for her.
Nothing would ever be normal again.
Tulkhorn confirmed what she was thinking by saying, in as gentle a voice as it could be said in, “You can’t go back to — the Langlins. Not while you are accused — of wrongdoing. — You understand.”

“Yes.” She nodded.

“How about your parents?”

“No. My stepfather.”

Tulkhorn nodded understandingly. He waited. A man used to applying infinite patience to a multitude of problems that yielded to his implacable will. “I know of some reasonably priced apartments — that rent by the month. Not in the best part of town — but they are clean and — no one asks a lot of questions.”
L C had the feeling Tulkhorn had more than a passing acquaintance with those apartments. Visions of Perry Mason hiding clients in seedy hotels sprang to her mind.

“Okay.” She agreed.

She did not want to talk to her mother, or anyone else in her family just yet. In the morning she would get Rocko from Aunt Emerald. When L C was little she would pretend to be Dorothy in the wizard of Oz and would call Aunt Emerald, “Aunty Em.”
Maybe that was where L C developed a fondness for small dogs. It’s a wonder she had not named him Toto rather than Rocko.
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

 

Chapter Forty: To Bail or Not to Bail

27 Apr
BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading  TheMapThinker.com

BTW when you are done reading this chapter. If you think thinking is fun; if you think philosophy should be for everyone try reading TheMapThinker.com

 

L C Had never been in a courtroom before. It looked just like the ones on TV, all the way from the old black and white Perry Mason series up to the newest Blu-ray.

She thought she was going to go to her arraignment but it turned out it was her preliminary hearing. Something that happens before an arraignment.

It would have been comforting to have had Kathy Bates from Harry’s Law instead of the heavy-eyed Tulkhorn sitting next to her. She looked at him out of the corner of her right eye. It was not a sight to cheer up her already lowered spirits.
He looked reluctant and lethargic, as though he not only did not want to be there, he barely had the energy to lift his head up high enough to look at the judge.

L C had asked him, “Are you really my lawyer? Or are you working for the Langlins?”

He studied her carefully before answering. “I work for money. My skills do not come cheap. If I am paid I work. If I am not paid ― I do not work. I am being paid ― to represent you. As long as I am being paid ― I represent you ― and you alone.”

“And if they quit paying you?”

“Then you will probably be given a public defender.”

Somehow she felt like she was back in the cell with Violet. “I’m a professional. I don’t get paid I don’t fight.” She had said.

A man in uniform stood up. “All rise.”

Everyone stood up.

The judge entered. Sat behind his desk. Nodded his head.

The man in uniform intoned, “You may be seated.” Then he sat down and so did everyone else.

The judge read some papers. Looked around the room. Said some things L C didn’t follow. Then he said a string of numbers and suddenly asked “How do you plead. Guilty or not guilty.”

“Not guilty. My client has no knowledge of the crime in any manner, shape or form.”

The prosecutor rose. He was everything her lawyer was not. He was young. He was good-looking. He was thin and hard muscled. He bounded to his feet. He spoke strongly, quickly, and steadily. He had a good speaking voice.

“We ask that bail be denied, your honor. She is a flight risk. She has already attempted to flee the country once and it was entirely through luck she was apprehended within minutes of boarding.” He handed papers to the judge. L C assumed they were tickets, flight plans, etc. Proof she was boarding an airplane bound for Europe.

Tulkhorn rose. “Rediculous. My client,” he stared at L C causing every eye in the room to go to her. She was dressed in the most professional, most “nanny” looking outfit money could buy. He had handed it to her earlier and instructed her to go into the bathroom and put it on. She was surprised that it fit her perfectly, but it did.

“She was not fleeing. She was acting ― in her capacity as nanny. She was following her employers instructions. On extremely short notice ― I might add. Unless,” he managed to look at the prosecutor with his entire body, not just his eyes,

“you claim her employer ― was somehow involved ― in this alleged ‘escape’ ― you keep talking about.”

The judge brought down his gavel. “You will address the court, counselor.”

Ponderously Tulkhorn turned his body toward the judge. “Of course your honor. Is it your wish to extradite her employers from,” he riffled through his papers, “France, I believe.” He waited expectantly.

The judge did not look happy. “Of course not. I do not believe anyone here has implied her employers were, or are, in any way concerned in the matter.” He looked to the prosecutor. “Isn’t that correct, counselor.”

“Of course your honor. All of our findings indicate the girl acted on her own.”

“Woman,” Stated Tulkhorn. “She is twenty years old. She is no longer a girl.”

“This woman, acted alone. She admits to being in the cabin and her prints are all over a revolver which appears to have been fired at the crime scene.”

“Appeared.” Tulkhorn straightened his tie. “Was the gun fired at the crime scene or not? Was it fired during the crime? She does not deny handling the gun. She admits it. Even if she fired it. If she did so a week before the crime ― it is not pertinent.”

“One question at a time, counselor.” Advised the judge.

The prosecutor looked apologetic. “Our town is not large enough to afford a full-sized crime lab, your honor. We have to farm these things out. The results are not back yet.”

“I see the pistol, I am unclear  –  about what has been sent –  to the crime lab.”

“A bullet dug out of the roof of the cabin, your honor.”

“It is a hunter’s cabin, your honor, such things – often – happen.. Is there any proven connection between my client and the bullet in the roof?”

“We cannot allow a cold-blooded killer to roam the streets at will simply because the test results that would prove it are not yet returned to us.”

Tulkhorn squared his shoulders. “Noble sentiments. However my client is not a murderer. She has nothing to run from. And the results of the test will clear her of wrong doing.”

The prosecutor spoke passionately. “She murdered her fiance with no compassion. It was a torture scene. She knows we will prove this. She has every reason to flee. And we do not believe it is in society’s best interest to allow someone with so little compassion as to commit such a barbarous to be allowed to roam the streets, your honor.”

“There is no evidence ― my client ― has had any contact ― with the deceased ― except for a chance encounter ― one time only ― in a grocery store.”

“Which she lied to the police about.”

“A chance encounter ― a half a year ago. In a grocery store. I am sure ― I can produce someone ― the prosecutor ― or even yourself your honor ― you encountered in a grocery store ― a half a year ago ― that you do not recall.”

“An encounter that was so blatant the owner of the story threw her out over.”

“That has yet to be proven. And the prosecution ―has only interviewed ― one witness to this ― alleged ‘incident’.”

In the end she was let go with five hundred thousand dollars bail which Tulkhorn posted. She had to surrender her passport and was told not to so much as leave the city limits.

 

 

 
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A great WordPress.com site

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the Story within the Story

stillness of heart

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** OFFICIAL Site of Artist Ray Ferrer **

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A Financial Life Coach

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