Caster-The Yin and The Yang, Part 3
By Yagswag
- 326 reads
“John, keep your voice down.” Danielle hissed at him.
“I can damn well raise my voice if I want!” John yelled. “Now you take the damn cab home. I have work to do.”
John drove to headquarters, where he asked for the officers that were on scene the morning of the kidnapping and murder.
“I want traffic camera footage from everywhere within a mile radius of the address. No way that fucker teleported to whatever hole he came out of.”
“On it sir.” Officer Benson replied heading to his desk.
“What does computer forensics have? I want to know every email this woman has received, any stalkers, everything.”
“They’re still workin-“ Officer Benson started.
“Then tell them to work faster!” John yelled. “Go!”
Benson nodded and turned towards the elevator. John sat back down in his chair, still shocked from his own action. For an instance he couldn’t help but to feel like Mallory himself…man I feel sorry for the prick, he thought.
He logged back onto his computer finding articles on or relating to Anne Richards.
Prized Silverbanks Tribune Journalist Declared Kidnapped
Chief of Police Shannon Blakely released a statement on Wednesday morning, declaring officially that Anne Richards had been kidnapped from her home in Westborough Lane. From interviews with the editor-in-chief of the Silverbanks Tribune, Troy Wilkins, Richards was a journalist of high repute for the organization, despite the controversy that surrounded her name, due to her harsh criticism of United States’ Foreign Policy.
When asked about the possibility of a connection with the ‘Hooker Butcher’ case, the Chief vehemently denied any connection, and even went as far as to reprimand the reporter who asked the question by stating explicitly, “by asking that you are implying that Anne Richards was a prostitute of some sort. That she somehow deserved the fate that came her way!”
The man tried to contest, saying, “Are you implying prostitutes deserve a tragic end?” But Chief Blakely offered no comment in reply. As of now however, through the Chief, the police department has stated that its heart is with any family and the few friends that Anne Richards did have in Silverbanks. The Silverbanks Police department is continuing its investigation in hopes of finding the Anne’s kidnapper, the man who also murdered her husband.
Author: Monica Lewis
Silverbanks Tribune
Silverbanks Tribune Journalist Kidnapped
At 3:20 A.M, the neighbor of Anne Richards, who wishes to go unnamed, made a call to the police after hearing gunshots and seeing the figure of her kidnapper, carrying her body to his getaway vehicle. He claims it is a black colored, two door Chevrolet Suburban.
Prior to her kidnapping, Anne was one of the most reputable journalists in the Silverbanks Tribune, known most for her harsh criticism of U.S. foreign policy and military intervention. Chief of Police Shannon Blakely has made a statement, “our hearts go out to any family and friends that Anne Richards had during her life, and we won’t stop until we bring justice upon the man who had it in him to commit such a heinous crime.”
While some have expressed skepticism about the nature of the kidnapping, arguing that the Chief may have had a hand in the woman’s disappearance, such claims have as of now been dismissed as rumors. The hunt continues for the kidnapper of Anne Richards, the same man who was responsible for the murder of her husband that very morning.
Author: Kelsey Rose
Silverbanks Daily News
People do anything to blame the police. John thought, as he read the comments about accusations against the Chief. If they understood our fuckin’ job for once-
“Sir,” Officer Benson said, from behind him. Outside, it had gotten dark, the office mostly deserted, except for the two of them. “Computer forensics report. Apparently there have been harassing emails sent to her multiple times, supposedly from the same individual…he called himself AK-47, but the email was untraceable. Same goes for her phone sir…several calls, even text messages were made from an individual threatening death, and even counting down, day by day, until her kidnapping.”
“Untraceable?”
“Untraceable…the lead analyst suggests the moniker may be of some use…”
“Thank you Officer.” John said, and took the report from him. Benson nodded and turned back.
AK-47, AK-47, what the fuck? He gonna shoot her with that?
6.
Carl stood watching the traffic camera footage, courtesy of the Scientific Investigation Division, from the traffic camera that had been positioned diagonal to the 7-eleven which had been robbed. The perpetrator walked down the street from the 7-eleven, head still facing down, and the bag of dollar bills in his hand. As he reached the intersection, Carl switched to a different camera. The man crossed the street slowly but surely. On the other side, there were three brick buildings, each about three stories high. In between however, there was sufficient space for a person to walk, an alleyway, only wider. The man disappeared into the alleyway between the first two buildings.
“Fuckin’ hell.” Carl swore, as he shut off the footage. The alleyway was adjacent to a Dennings Avenue, which was around the corner from the 7-eleven that had just been robbed.
Carl swerved the Crown Victoria into a parallel park on Dennings, and hurriedly got out. To his back was a bar, called The Fertile Crescent, and lining either side were convenience stores. In front of him, Carl saw the alleyway into which the perpetrator had disappeared. The first brick building was a bakery, its windows lined with all exquisite breads.
Carl crossed the street and entered the store.
“Hello, welcome to Diane’s Finest.” The clerk, Diane, said. “Would you like to try a sample of our newest olive bread?”
“Sure.” Carl said smiling, and accepting a piece.
“How can I help you sir?” Diane said, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Ma’am-“
“Oh, goodness call me Diane. You make me feel old…I was a really pretty woman in my earlier days…but I’m sure that’s not hard to believe now is it?”
“Absolutely not Diane, in fact, if anything I got to say you look younger…”
“Well goodness, you’ve mastered the art of flattery.”
“How do you think I got this far?” Carl joked, and pulled out his badge. Diane’s smile suddenly disappeared.
“What do you want?” she asked, her tone suddenly vile.
“Whoa, easy Diane. You ain’t in trouble or nothing’. I’m Detective Carl Jones-“
“Yeah I can see that, now tell me what you want or leave.” She retorted.
“Diane, do you recall seeing a man dressed in black jogger’s clothes walking by your store yesterday morning? Say…seven o’clock?”
“Jogging clothes?” she asked bluntly.
“Yeah. He was wearing a cap too…Dodgers specifically.”
“Yeah, what’s it to you?” Diane demanded.
“We’re on the lookout for a burglar…robbed the 7-eleven just around the corner.”
“He just walked by…didn’t come in or anything.”
“Didn’t come by again or anything?”
“No…not that I remember.” Diane shrugged. “Are you done here?” she asked firmly.
“Yes, I am.” Carl winked and headed out not bothering to wish her good-bye.
“Fuck you too.” Diane said shaking her fist at him as he left.
No trace of the burglar, no leads…Carl had always wanted a vacation to an island, and now more than ever he felt such isolation. All they could do was wait.
Carl left the scene, deciding to clear his head…grandmother had always told him that a fried brain was no good.
His grandmother on his mind, Carl drove to Essex…as he neared he could feel his own heart racing. There were people here by whom he couldn’t afford to be seen. Sometimes an early life of crime never failed to haunt one in the later days…there was never true redemption. Carl parked the Crown Victoria at an inconspicuous spot, about a block from his grandmother’s apartment. The building looked like the Ritz in comparison to what was around.
Around him, the buildings were dilapidated, some overgrown with vines and, having cracked windows. The walls often were decorated with bullet holes or gang insignias, many of which were familiar to him from his childhood.
Carl jogged to his grandmother’s house, keeping his head down until he entered the building. Her apartment was on the first floor. For all her iron will and determination, she was weak on the knees and her back often gave her trouble, so stairs were a comfort she couldn’t afford.
“Grandma, it’s Prince Charming.” Carl said and chuckled as he knocked on the door.
“Well, then come on in and save the damsel in distress.” His grandmother yelled from inside.
Carl laughed…his grandmother was always the eye of the storm in a neighborhood like West Essex.
“Now what’s goin’ on with my little-“ his grandmother said and smiled warmly as she walked out of the kitchen.
“Oh…grandma now don’t you go about treatin’ me like a little baby.” He smiled, as he entered the apartment. “I’m big enough to pick you up.” He said, and did just that. Even to this day, in their embrace, the sadness of his mother’s death still lingered. Carl’s grandmother pulled back and looked at him, eyes radiating affection, to one of her last living relatives.
“You ought to get married…” she said suddenly.
“Grandma,” Carl whined in mock complaint, “we’ve been over this. With a job like what I’ve got…it’d turn into a one night stand.”
“Now don’t you go about talkin’ like that. There is a fine young lady out there just lookin’ for a fine young man such as yourself.”
“Well, hopefully she won’t be lookin’ for long.” Carl smiled.
“So, what’s going on?” his grandmother said, and beckoned him to sit down at the dinner table. “I baked cookies yesterday. Gave them to the kids next door. Sweeties I tell ya. Well mannered…not like those hoodlums you used to hang out with during your younger years.” His grandmother teased, but when Carl’s expression grew morose, she lightly patted his hand showing she was only joking.
“Oh, the usual…cases…”
“Anything I can-“
“Grandma…I came over so I could relax.” Carl smiled, taking a cookie from the plate to his side. “Mmm…you haven’t lost it yet.” Carl said his mouth full.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full Carl…” his grandmother corrected affectionately and wagged a finger at him.
“Grandma!!” Carl groaned, and leaned back in the chair. When he looked back at her, he could see tears welling up in her eyes. “Grandma,” Carl said in a softer voice, going to her side…”It’s alright…”
“No, it ain’t Carl. I’ve been tryin’ to tell myself that since it happened. Not a day goes by where I don’t remember my baby.” His grandmother said, her voice calm yet laced with sorrow. He gently caressed her shoulders, so tender with age, The afternoon light slowly began to recede and the room grew dimmer, and dimmer as the day progressed.
They watched some television together, and even enjoyed some reruns of shows like Friends, or Everybody Loves Raymond. Carl’s grandmother laughed the loudest every time.
It was 9:00 before he knew it, and Carl stood up.
“Alright, Grandma,” he bent down and kissed her cheek, “you take care now.”
“Wait, wait, wait…you still haven’t told me about your case.”
“Grandma, I told-“
“Carl Whitfield Jones, you are not walking out that door till you let your Grandmother help you out with your case.”
Carl sighed, he knew better than to argue with her. After all, she had given him useful information for the past dozen that she’d helped him with. They sat back down at the dining table across from each other. Carl had his pen pad out with all his notes and deductions, which didn’t amount to a whole lot given how inconspicuous the culprit had managed to be.
“So…what happened?” his grandmother asked in a soft voice, her thinking voice as Carl liked to call it.
“7-eleven was burglarized. Cashier called the police, became a crime scene…standard stuff.”
“How much money?” she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“150 dollars probably…cashier’s estimate.”
“Hmmm…now think Carl…150 bucks…why would a man need money like that?”
“Grandma the crime doesn’t point to anything…too early to establish any motive. Guy robbed the place. No fingerprints even. I saw the security footage, and traffic camera footage and he literally just walked out. Not a single shot fired. Didn’t attract any attention…some phantom kind of guy.”
“Okay…you’re not answering my question…”
“Because I can’t Grandma.”
“Yes you can…Now why would someone need 150 dollars?”
“I don’t know…something quick. Something short term?”
“Now you’re thinking. He needs his money then and there…he’s under the gun Carl. It’d be something else if he robbed a bank.”
“Okay…but we still can’t find the guy.”
“I know, I’m just trying to help you make sense of what has already happened. It’s also possible he’s keeping this money somewhere. Some stash…”
Just then, Carl’s phone rang...he answered it quickly.
“He hit another store…” Carl said, and stood up. “You’re right…he’s on the run.”
He hurried out of the apartment building. The night was surprisingly cold, and Carl found himself shuddering as a sharp blast of night air hit him head on as he turned onto the street where his car was parked.
Behind him, he faintly heard a patter of footsteps. He turned. Nobody.
Carl pressed on, trying to hurry towards his car. As he reached it…a hooded figure rose from behind his car.
“Hi motherfucker.” The man said. “Remember me?”
“How about me?” another voice sounded from behind him. “Look atchu all dressed up in your cop outfit…that nice tie and badge…nice fancy gun…”the man said, and tried to reach around to his pistol.
“Fuck you man.” Carl said and swatted his hands away. “I made a fuckin’ choice. You don’t like it…well kiss my fuckin’ ass.”
“That’s the plan mothafucka, Ima kiss it with my feet.” The man in front lunged at Carl. Carl caught the punch in the crook of his arm, and bent it down, forcing the man down. Just then the other man kicked Carl in the ribs, knocking him down and winding him. Carl reached around for his gun but he first man was too quick.
He’d grabbed Carl’s gun out of the holster, and had it pressed to his head. The night wind blew harder against Carl’s bruised body. His blazer did little to keep him warm.
“Any last words bitch?” the second man snickered.
“Yeah…kiss my ass, shithead.” Carl said through gritted teeth. He swatted the gun out of the first man’s hand, grabbing it as it fell. He jabbed the barrel square into the second man’s solar plexus, sending him sprawling to the pavement. Carl planted a solid kick at the first man’s head, his head colliding with the wheel of the Crown Victoria.
“it’s gonna bite you in the ass Carl…it’s all gonna fuckin’ come back!!!” the first man yelled.
“Fuck you.” Carl spat at them. He got into his car and sped off.
7.
John wolfed down his bowl of cereal. He heard Danielle climbing down the stairs. The soft sound of her feet was almost soothing, but the memory of the dinner hadn’t faded. He didn’t bother to look up when she entered the kitchen.
Danielle sighed, and sat across from him at the table. He could feel her gaze burning into the top of his head.
“What?” he said, through a mouthful of Raisin Bran.
“Look…” she sighed again, “I’m sorry John…I-I shouldn’t have been like that…in the restaurant. I know you were trying to make it up and…it’s just…”
“Just what?” John said bluntly.
“It’s…I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight. Look, can we just…try this all again…please?” Danielle pleaded, her voice soft and weak.
John threw the spoon down into his cereal.
“Oh…so now you wanna try again huh? Things don’t go your way, little miss perfect ain’t happy, so everything’s got to just…happen again right? I got to save you from those muggers like I did 7 years ago, then I got to sell my mustang again, and then I got to stay in burglary so I can come and lick your cunt every fucking night right?!!” John yelled. “Fuck you!!”
Danielle broke down, sobbing into her hands.
“Yup, that’s right…get all fuckin’ emotional. No sympathy from me darling. You are an ungrateful bitch!” he yelled. “You can wash my bowl too.” He spat, standing up. “I suppose you forgot to recall all the instances where I cleaned up after myself right? I didn’t make you do my dirty work? Make you do my dishes? Nah!! Just forget all that shit!! Why? Because you can’t stand the fact that my job is fuckin’ busy…and that I’m not painting little butterflies with 4 year olds all day!!!” John roared.
Tears flowed like streams from Danielle’s eyes, and stained her hands as she tried to wipe them away.
“Okay John…we’ll do it like that. We’ll do it your way.” She patted the table, and picked up his bowl, walking over to the sink.
“I’m going to fuckin’ work.” John hissed, and grabbed the car keys.
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