My Justice My Revenge

  We stayed in the group for most of the night. But towards the end it was down to just Sommers, Stephanie and me. Sommers had been eyeing a different girl that had recently showed up.

  “Hey Timmy, mind if I try for that one over there? Could I use some of your lines like, ‘Ah, okay?’” Sommers asked. He laughed then headed over to another small group.

  I asked Stephanie if she wanted to join them. She said she was fine with just the two of us. “I’ve wanted to talk with you all night,” she said.

  “I’ve never seen you before with the Hilton group.”

  “I don’t go out a lot; I have a three year old daughter.”

  “Must be hard working full time and caring for your daughter. Does she go to day care?”

  “Yes, she does. But it’s not that bad. She’s a good kid.”

  I could see that she beamed when she spoke of her child. She was the eminent passion in her life; nothing would get in the way of that. That is the way it should always be.

  “How about you, any kids?”

  “A boy and a girl. I haven’t seen them for a while. It was sort of an unpleasant break up. Didn’t get much but my motorcycle.”

  “Do you pay child support?”

  “Yes, but actually it’s not bad. I was giving her my whole check for quite some time, now I can keep half of it.”

  I noticed she kept looking at me as we talked because I kept looking at her. I almost felt I was gawking at her. It was hard to keep my eyes off of her. She was so easy to talk to. I could say anything. Not having to censor myself or be afraid of saying the wrong thing. Words just flowed, almost like I was just babbling.

  I learned she lived with her daughter in a house she rented from her grandfather. It was located right in town, about three miles from where we were.

  “So you are a bartender?” I asked.

  “No, I am a mixologist. It seems you’re a bar hanger. You know one that hangs in bars.” As she spoke the whites of her teeth gleamed as a smile broke across her face.

  “Only on week-ends,” I said as I was also thinking, or when I’m down or lonely.

  “Do you think, maybe…” but before I could finish the question we all heard a horrendous crash. It came from down on the expressway. I ran with a couple other people to the fence and looked down to the bridge over the expressway. A car had crashed into the cement footing of the bridge. It was starting to smoke.

  I jumped over the fence and ran to the car. It seems I could run faster than usual. I then realized it was because I was running downhill. The alcohol made me forget that, I guess. There were no problems running, however, as I approached the highway, at quite a clip I might add, I was starting to concern myself with stopping before another car would have me for a hood ornament.

  Luck was with me tonight as no other cars came along, probably due to the hour. Keith was right behind me when we got to the car.

  The smoke was coming from the front end of the car. Part of the front end, however, was almost in the driver’s seat. We didn’t see any passengers, which was good since the cement embankment pushed the passenger seat into the back seat. I was able to get the driver’s door open. I’m sure Ferrari made it so it should open easier but probably not after a crash, especially one in which you were traveling at least ninety miles per hour.

  Once the door was open I tried to get the male out of the car. I asked him his name. “Fred,” was his straightforward answer.

  I then asked him if he remembered what had happened. “No, I was just driving when … I don’t remember.” He appeared to be trying to figure out what did happen, who this guy was pulling on him and why his nice white Boateng silk shirt was now red.

  I helped him from the car and walked him far enough away that if the car did blow we would be safe. I laid him down on the grass medium about twenty feet from the expressway.

  “You have been involved in an accident,” I told him. “Your head has been cut and you are bleeding.”

  “Did you get my keys?” With everything going on that’s your concern I thought. Well maybe he wasn’t completely all there yet.

  He also continuously went to wipe the blood away from his nose. He did have considerable amount of blood coming down from his forehead and nose area. “I just want to get this out of my face,” he said referring to the blood.

  “Just trust me, you don’t want to wipe your nose,” I said slightly shaking my head as I talked. What he didn’t know was every time he wiped across his nose, the skin of his nose and part of his lip came off his face.

  The paramedics were arriving along with the State Police as I told Fred one last time keep his hands to his side. I assisted him in getting them off his face. “I’m going to go, you take care.”

  “One last thing, you have my keys?” There was a loud explosion and the car was no more.

  “No Fred, I don’t.”

  I looked over at Keith and motioned it was time to beat feet before too many questions were asked about how we arrived here, what were we doing, had you been drinking? Questions better left unanswered.

  So as everyone was either keeping Fred’s face on or putting out his destroyed vehicle, we slipped away, back up the hill.

  David Makeity the Hilton manager was one of the few people left. I asked him where Stephanie went. “She had to get home to her kid and the baby sitter,” Makeity replied, “Why you missing something?”

  “No, just wondered,” I replied. But I was thinking, yeah I was missing something…her.

  Chapter 12

  It had been three days since the party and I had not seen or spoke with Stephanie. I had stopped by the Hilton looking for her but she was never working when I was there. I drove past her house several times but never saw her outside.

  Finally I decided it was time to assert my authority. So the next time I passed her house I placed a warning ticket for avoiding me on her car. I hoped she would see the humor in it. You know, wouldn’t cost her anything, maybe just a little time at dinner.

  The next day I received a call on my voice mail at work. It was Stephanie. She wanted to know what bail would be for such a crime and if I felt she needed an attorney. Well I knew I couldn’t take any money and I normally dislike attorneys, so my answer would be I’d let her go on a signature bond and forget the attorney.

  She had left me her home phone number, which I already had through police and city files. But I wanted to wait until she gave it to me.

  I gave her a call and asked why she hadn’t been around, hoping not to sound too much like a stalker. She explained her daughter, Christine, was sick and home from school.

  After some small talk she asked if I wanted to come over. “Sure, when?” I asked.

  “Whenever you want,” she responded.

  “I’ll be on the street in a few minutes, I could stop by for a couple of minutes, if that’s Okay?”

  “Sure, Christine went back to school today and will be coming home by then.”

  Now did this mean she didn’t want to be with me alone or was I reading too much into it? “See you then,” I said.

  Isn’t it funny how some days a little thing like a phone call can completely change your day around? Not that I was having a terrible day, just one that I did not want to do over, like right away. But now, my day was getting better. My mom use to say, “Just wait, something good will come every day, if you believe it will.”

  Stephanie’s house was a nice ranch house with a large back yard. It was in an older section of town but had been kept up very well. The trim had a fresh coat of paint on it and the front porch was recently done also.

  When I pulled onto the driveway her car was parked in front of the garage. As it turns out the garage had become a storage area as time went on. I exited my squad and walked up to the rear door and I rang the doorbell. I heard a voice yelling from the inside, “Don’t open the door.” It sounded like Stephanie’s voice.

  Not five seconds later the door opened and there stood a beautiful young girl. She
was wearing shorts and a tee shirt with the saying, “Grandma spoils me” on it. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi back at you,” I said. “Is your mother home?” I know this is wrong but the first thing that popped into my mind was the quickest way to the mother’s heart is through her daughter. This little girl and I were about to become best friends.

  From across the kitchen I heard Stephanie saying, “I thought I told you not to open the door?” She was saying it with a smile on her face, but using that motherish voice that said you may not be in trouble right now but when he leaves.

  “But he’s a policeman mommy.”

  “I am,” I said, sticking up for my new best friend and pointing to my badge. “We are the good guys.”

  “Yes, but she has to learn what she sees is not always what she is looking at.”

  “But mommy isn’t he the one you were telling Aunt Violet about?”

  “You were telling Aunt Violet about me?” Hmm, this might be better than I thought. Stephanie finally looked up at me after she stalled for as long as she could. I noticed her face a pretty shade of red. “What did you say to Aunt Vi?”

  “Mommy said…” started Christine.

  “Christine, do you want to have some ice cream?”

  I knew I would like this little girl. But, it seems, mommy is teaching her too much about censorship. “You know Stephanie; experts would say you should develop your child’s openness and honesty instead of impeding it. If she has something to bring to the conversation, shouldn’t she be offered the opportunity?” I was now laughing under my breath watching Stephanie squirm just a little.

  The look I was now receiving had gone away from embarrassed to “you can shut up now.” Since I have had classes on reading body language, I knew it had become time to shut up. I gave Stephanie my sweetest smile and batted my baby blues at her. “I see your point Stephanie. Christine, want some ice cream?”

  Stephanie laughed out loud, “You really know how to do a one-eighty.”

  She continued to laugh to herself as she put Christine’s ice cream in a bowl. “Would you like some?” she asked me with a scoop on the spoon.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. I have to get back out. How about a rain check?” I waited for my answer.

  “What time do you get off? Christine goes to bed at nine.”

  “I’m off at eleven.”

  “Could you stop by then?”

  “Sure, want me to bring anything?” I was hoping for an answer like some champagne for a celebration or a good movie, like Ghost or Romeo and Juliet, quiet and romantic.

  “No, just be sure to come back if I’m waiting up for you.”

  “No worries, I’ll be here if I have to drag myself through a mile of dung.” Oh Timmy, that sounds so romantic. Note to self; take a lesson from Stephanie, censor yourself.

  Chapter 13

  It was the start of yet another midnight shift. The August air had been relatively cool in the evenings. We were still in our short sleeve shirts so I was a bit cold. You have to remember though; if it’s under eighty degrees it’s too cold. So I walked out to the squad car at a brisk pace to be able to turn on the heat to warm up a little.

  Driving around with the heat on and window down was typical for me. I always wanted to hear what was going on outside of my car.

  I stopped into the seven-eleven to pick up my Diet Coke. I talked for a few minutes with the clerk, Dave. He was in his upper thirties or early forties had long black hair, some might call him hippyish. He had a country/rock band that played some fairly big gigs throughout the summer. Since I’ve always liked music it was easy to talk to him. Sometimes you just hit it off with someone. That was Dave and I.

  We’d talk of some of his old concerts and some of the big names he opened for. There was Toby Keith, Big n Rich, even Willie Nelson. He had some good back stage and trailer stories. Were they all true? Well, probably more like semi-true stories.

  He was in the middle of one story, something about Hank Williams Jr., a convertible, and lots of booze when I heard a call go out to another car of the sound of a female screaming. Dave was use to these interruptions. He always said that we could waste time with the best of them, but when it was time to leave for a call, we were gone.

  The call came in as somewhere in the seven hundred block of West Division Street. I heard Mike Mansolini was coming from East Division Street so I decided to come in from the twelve hundred block of West Division. We would be coming from both ways then.

  I drove like a bat out of hell until I got close to the seven hundred block then I drove at a crawl. I didn’t want to roar by whatever was going on. Driving slowly, windows open, listening for any sound. I stopped and exited my car. No sounds at all accept an old hoot owl.

  Behind the houses on the north side of the street was a golf course. Mansolini drove up. “Hear anything?” he asked.

  “No. I’m going to walk some of the golf course,” I said already starting to walk in-between houses.

  Mansolini yelled over, “I’m gonna drive back around to the pro shop area”

  I just waved at him to indicate okay. I walked rather slow listening as hard as I could. Damn, it was times like this I wish I didn’t listen to music so loud. I’m sure some of my hearing was gone.

  I radioed in to dispatch, “Any better location? Who called this in?”

  Cindy, the radio dispatcher for tonight, said the call was blocked. “I’m trying other ways to ascertain who called and from where.”

  “Did the caller give you any other information?”

  “No.”

  The moon was full so the golf course was lit up nicely with its light. But there were a lot of trees and bushes on it. I was straining my eyes I was trying to see through the trees but without any luck.

  There have been certain times I had wondered why I was a police officer before; this was turning into one of them. You know, like when you get a call “man is firing a gun” your brain tells you run the other way, but you run towards him. Not right, but it is what I do.

  Here I was, realizing now how alone I was walking through a golf course with my back up God knows how far away. Not knowing what I’m walking into but I keep walking. Probably just some kids I thought.

  Then I heard it. Soft, mumbled, what was it? A soft whimper, which was coming from just behind the bush. My gun was now out as I crept up on the bush. Why did these trees have to be right here darkening the area?

  When I looked past the bush I saw a girl, maybe fourteen, her blond hair was tangled every which way. She had on no shoes and no top. Her skirt was pulled down to her knees. She had not heard me walk up.

  Before I turned on my Kel-lite flashlight I whispered to her, “Are you all right?”

  Her head snapped towards me along with a scream that pierced the night. I turned on my flashlight pointing it at my uniform, my face, just at myself. She did not stop screaming. I radioed I had located the victim. “It appears she been attacked.” They could hear her in the background.

  “Are you okay?” radioed Mansolini. “Do you see an offender? Do you have a description?”

  “No. She won’t… she can’t talk to me.” I have always been good with handling kids.

  They usually trusted me. I had never been around one like this. “It’s all right, I’m a police officer.”

  She would only scream and try to slide away from me. I made no attempt to get any closer to her. I knew I should be asking her questions or at least trying to. But I felt so sorry for her. What had she been through that made her so frightened? I could only imagine.

  I called for the fire department and paramedics. I just stood by her trying to give her the feeling of being safe. Then she yelled, “I’ve been raped.”

  I called that in immediately. I tried to comfort her as she had stopped screaming. Once I tried to bend down next to her, again she slid further away and almost started screaming.

  “Try to relax. You are safe now. The paramedics are on their way. They wi
ll take you to the hospital and they will be able to help you. I’m sorry this happened to you, I know how you feel.” I was talking very slow and quietly. With a voice to reassure her she was in fact safe. For I knew no more harm would come to her this evening.

  After the paramedics arrived the “on call” detective was on the scene. The only person this terrified little girl would talk to was the female paramedic. She did not even want to look at a man.

  She was placed in the ambulance along with the detective and taken to the hospital. I watched as the ambulance started to move across the fifth fairway. Tomorrow people will be enjoying a round of golf with no idea what a terrible hell this was for a small girl tonight.

  I searched the area for any type of clue for the next two hours. Nothing. I was hoping against hope I could find something to nail the bastard that could cause so much harm to someone. If I could only run into him right now he might not see the light of day.

  Knowing I wouldn’t do anything to him and that my chances of seeing him were zero, I packed up for awhile. I’d be back at daybreak. Maybe there would be a clue I could find in the sun.

  I went back but no luck. I had talked to the detective and at this time there was very little information on the offender. Not much more than a male and that he was white. That didn’t narrow the search down much. I didn’t want to think someone might get away with this crime. I remembered that as I wrote my report, there’s not much in the way of evidence to write about but put it all down maybe something I am over looking will help. It took me almost the rest of the night to finish.

  Just before the end of the shift I stopped back at seven-eleven. Dave was also getting ready to turn the business over to the day shift. I asked Dave, “How old is your girl?”

  “Thirteen,” he answered. “Why?”

  “Give her a hug when you get home, that’s all.” He would find out why soon enough when the newspapers would tell the story.

  Chapter 14

  When I came into work I had a message to call or stop over at Jeffrey Motter’s house. He was supposed to be working and when I asked why he wasn’t there I didn’t get any straight answers.

  I decided to drive to his parent’s house where he lived. I pulled into the driveway, waved to the neighbor as I walked up to his garage. Jeffery met me at the side door of his garage. He had a nice set up. He had a four-car garage, which housed his car, a 1965 Corvette Stingray, a Ford van that he used for his electrical business, a four-wheeler, a three-wheeler and a snowmobile stored there. He had all the toys. He also had an upstairs to the garage where he had a small living quarters. He had his bed, a couch that was under the window overlooking the street. A forty-inch Sony television hooked up to all the latest games which was directly across from the couch. A VCR and other video games he bought used from bars. This was more of a play area than his sleeping area. He would sometimes say if he were working late that he would crash out here.