Simon Says: Case of Vengeance by the Letter

Simon Says: Case of Vengeance by the Letter


By


P.J. Lawton


Simon Says - - Be careful what you wish for - - You may just
get it - - or something like that.



It was around four A.M. when my eyelids started to droop along with the
batteries in my night vision goggles. A sudden movement in the backyard
of the house below caught my attention and brought me back fully awake.
It was a figure dressed in dark clothing moving silently through the
shadows. I quickly snapped on my laser sight and lined the dot up on
figures chest. I took a breath, let half out and held the rest. I
gently applied finger pressure. The figure turned slightly and looked
in my direction. My breath gushed out as I jerked my finger off the
trigger. It was TJ. I had almost killed my best friend! Suddenly the
radio in my shooting vest squawked.


"Hey Sherlock, you there?


"TJ you dummy, you almost got your butt shot off. What the
hell do you think you're doing?


"Easy Bro, no big thing. Alease thought she heard something
and I thought I had better check it out. The sound came from the side
of the house away from you. I wasn't sure if you could see anything
from where you are."


Somewhat placated I didn't want to sound as relieved as I
felt. "Okay TJ, no problem, just give me a little advanced warning the
next time, you know, like use the radio before you go
exploring."


With a laugh TJ replied. "Roger Sherlock, wouldn't want you
to shoot any holes in this beautiful body. Alease would be awfully
pissed. How long you planning to stay around?"


"I've got a pretty good position here. It should be daylight
in about 2 hours or so. I don't think you'll have any problems after
that. I'll hang around till then. Tell Alease to get some sleep and
quit worrying about every little bump in the night. Her hero, Super
Simon is on the job."


Another laugh from TJ. "Roger Super Simon." Then a little bit
more seriously. "Yo Sherlock, you watch your butt now. You don't know
how much I appreciate this? "


I cut him off. No time to get mushy. "Hey Big Guy, go get
some rest. I'll talk to you later."


I watched TJ return to his house and his beautiful wife
Alease. TJ was Tommy James a Detective Sergeant with the metro police,
my ex-partner and best friend.


My name is Winston Simon and I'm a private detective. I was
once a police sergeant myself till a little thing called the Gulf War
came along. As a US Army Reserve officer I was sent to Saudi Arabia
where an errant Scud Missile ended my police career. The metal that I
took caused me three painful surgeries and left me with a plastic knee
and a small Veterans Administration pension. After finishing my
recovery I took my savings and bought a failing detective agency. That
was a little over eight years ago.


A little after six o'clock I packed up and headed back to my
office cum apartment. After stowing my equipment and throwing my
woodland patterned camouflage clothes in a corner I fell on my cot. As
tired as I was I couldn't seem to drop off. I simply lay they letting
my mind slowing go over the events that had brought us to today. It all
started a little less than two weeks before.


***


It was about 10:00 AM on a dreary Monday morning. Rain and
freezing rain mixed fell intermittently. I had slogged and sloshed my
way through the half melted mess that one day before had been a
beautiful 8-inch late spring snowfall. Today though, ugh. The city at
its ugliest I thought. By the middle of the week the temperatures were
supposed to be in the mid-70s. I couldn't wait.


I was on my second cup of coffee at the local hash house when
I got around to the newspaper article. It was tucked away on page five
and I almost missed it. I guess it had been a busy news day for
normally a story such as this would have been front-page news. It read,
"Prominent Attorney and wife found murdered". It went on to quickly
tell that former District Attorney William Wallace and his wife Eleanor
were found dead yesterday in the hot tub of their plush Everwood
Estates home. It said that both had been shot in the head, execution
style. It didn't provide much more detail and finished by saying that
the investigation was ongoing.


I sat there stunned! William Wallace, WW as he was commonly
known, and I weren't exactly friends but we had known each other for a
long time. He had been the prosecutor on my last case as a police
officer. WW had never been a police friendly prosecutor but was well
enough liked and respected by most of the boys in blue. Eleanor Wallace
and my wife, I mean ex-wife old what's her name had been members of the
same health club. We knew the Wallace's and saw them socially a couple
of times even though we didn't run in exactly the same circles. They
were a little pretentious after all. As TJ would say, anyway, they were
good people and didn't deserve to die that way.


I just sat for a few moments deep in thought until my cell
phone chirped.


"Simon." I said.


"Hey Sherlock, what's shaking?" It was TJ.


"Hey TJ. What's going on? Have you seen the paper? I can't
believe it. WW gone. I thought he would be around forever. Any idea who
did it?" My words just came rushing out.


"Sherlock, that's why I'm calling, there's something about
the murders that the papers don't know. WW and his wife both have the
little finger on their right hands missing. Oh, and one other thing,
the letters were there!"


I had suddenly gone cold. Oh no I though, here we go again.
"You checked right? He's still there on death row right? There's no way
he could have been released. It has to be a copycat."


"Yeah, he's still there. He ain't going anywhere except to
the death chamber a week from next Thursday. At 12:01 A.M a week from
Friday he's history. It has to be a copycat but you and I both know
that the letter information was never released. How could a copycat
know?"


We tossed ideas about for the next few minutes then TJ rang
off. I left my now cold coffee and quickly returned to my office. In
the back of my closet was a metal file box containing some of my old
case files. I pulled out a musty file folder and silently looked at the
label. In what was once bright red magic marker now faded to a light
orange were two words. The Collector! Even today those words sent a
chill down my spine.


The Collector was the most evil serial killer ever seen in
the metro area. By the time he was finally stopped he had killed 11
people. He got his name from the news folks because of his collection
of souvenirs taken from his victims. Each souvenir was the cut off
little finger of the right hand. This little trick had been widely
disseminated throughout the media. What had not been published was the
Collector's other trait.


Using the victim's blood the Collector had written a letter
on each forehead starting with the letter C and ending at his capture
with the letter O. The words spelled out had been C A T C H M E I F Y O
. It was widely thought that he had been attempting to spell out "Catch
Me If You Can". Thankfully we managed to stop him before he was able to
finish.


Now someone had started again. Only this time the letters
were different. William Wallace's forehead had shown the letter V and
on his wife the letter E. Could it be the beginning of the word
VENGEANCE? After some discussion that's what TJ had concluded. I tended
to agree.


***


On Thursday morning, a week to the day before the Collector
was to die for his crimes the next set of bodies was found. District
Judge Luscious Jolly and his wife were found in their bed, dead. M.O.
was the same. Shot in the head execution style, little finger on right
hand removed and a letter left on each forehead. On Judge Jolly was
written the letter N and on his wife the letter G. It looked like we
had been right, the word or words being spelled out appeared to be
Vengeance.


Around ten o'clock I got a call from TJ. "Hey bro, I guess
you saw the news?"


"Yeah I saw it. Looks like someone is trying to make good on
the Collectors threats."


"Right, I remember him screaming out as he was literally
being carried from the courtroom that we would all die. He said the
prosecutor, judge, you and I, and even his court appointed attorney
along with all our families were going to die before him. Looks like
someone is trying to see that happen. I can tell you that Alease is
pretty shook up. At least Tracy and Jacki aren't here. You just have to
watch your own back."


Tracy is old what's her name, my ex-wife and Jacki is my
almost 10-year-old daughter. During my little trip to Saudi Arabia
during Desert Storm my wife had decided that she had enough being a
cop's wife. She had taken Jacki and headed for Las Vegas for a quickie
divorce. She found out that she liked it out there and decided to stay.
The last I heard she had a job in the PR department of one of the big
hotel-casinos. I was glad for her I guess, but I did miss my little
girl a lot.


"Who's been assigned to the case," I asked?


"Right now the task force Commander is Willis Jackson. I
guess they're trying to give him something to go out on. I'm second on
the case but we don't really have anything to go on."


Willis Jackson was my old training officer and had been a
friend for almost 20 years. He would be retiring in a couple of months.
Like TJ said, I guess they wanted to give him something big to go out
on. I just hope it didn't take him down like the first case had almost
done to me.


I had been the primary detective in the original Collector
case. I was the one who eventually brought him in. He didn't come
willingly and unfortunately his live in girlfriend and 11-year-old son
were accidentally killed in the shootout. Hell, we hadn't even known he
had a girlfriend or son, much less that they were with him when we
found him. I blamed myself for those deaths and carried that guilt
around for a long time. I now believe that my weeks of mood swings and
silence were the final straw in my fragile marriage. I guess old what's
her name had just had enough. I didn't blame her, well not much
anyway.


"Has anyone warned his attorney, what was his
name?"


"No, not yet. His name is Watson; no one has been able to
locate either him or his wife. The team has a citywide lookout but I'm
afraid it might be too late. Look bro, I gotta go do a little
detecting. You watch your back okay?"


***


Two days later I was sitting in my office when my phone rang.
I hadn't done much the last couple of days. The Collector file had
brought back some painful hurt and memories. I had been in a funk and
it had really been hard to shake.


"Simon."


A gravelly voice spoke softly. "I'm saving you till the
last."


"What. Who is this," I shouted. My heart started pounding in
my chest and I had a hard time catching my breath. The voice was
disguised. I couldn't really tell if it was male or female but I was
pretty sure it was male.


The same quiet voice continued. "You're all going to die. A
promise is a promise. VENGEANCE will soon be done."


"Look you crazy jerk . . ." I was talking to dead air. I sat
there for a few seconds trying to get my breath back to normal. The
phone rang again.


"You just keep calling you sick . . ., I'll get you. I swear
I will." I shouted into the receiver


"Hey Bro. Easy there now. Are you okay? How you holding up."
It was TJ.


"Sorry TJ. I'm hanging in there." I quickly told him about
what had just gone down. We discussed it for a few minutes. After about
five minutes I asked, "What about you and Alease?"


"One day at a time bro, one day at a time. Oh yeah, I called
to let you know that we found Watson."


I had to think for a second. Oh yeah, Watson had been the
Collector's court appointed attorney.


"From you tone I don't think its good news."


"Afraid not Sherlock. A citizen reported an abandoned car
over in the wooded area of Riverside Park. Patrol Officers went to
check it out and found the bodies of Watson and his wife. Same thing,
shot in the head, fingers missing and lettered. Watson had an E and his
wife had an A. Lets see, that spells V E N G E A . It looks like you
and I are the only ones left. With you, me and Alease he can complete
his word."


Suddenly subconsciously or unconsciously I made a decision. I
wasn't going to let this evil draw me in again. Like the old clich?
said, it was like a light bulb suddenly turned on. I had a plan. I
said, "I guess we'll just have to keep old Suzy Speller from doing
that. He said he was saving me for last, right, so here's what we do."
It took about three minutes to outline my plan. TJ didn't like it much
but finally agreed. After all, a not so good plan was better than no
plan at all. We decided to put it into action right
away.


Before we could initiate my plan I needed to get a few
supplies. Specifically I needed a pair of night vision goggles and a
night scope for my Bushmaster Bullpup rifle. As I headed out into the
street for local Army Surplus Survival Outfitter, something on the
other side of the street caught my attention. It was a man standing at
the corner staring in my direction. Something was very familiar about
him. Abruptly it dawned on me. It was the Collector!


I stopped in my tracks. Although in my mind I knew it
couldn't be him, all my senses told me it was. He had the same stringy
dishwater blond hair, the same scruffy beard, the same tall lanky
165-pound frame. And, worse of all, he had the same evil gray-green
eyes. In about 10 seconds I got over my initial shock. Quickly reaching
for my waistband belt holster I pulled my everyday handgun. It was a
Walther P22 .22-caliber semi-automatic pistol. I knew the .22 was no
good at that distance but I planned to get a lot closer. As I attempted
to sprint across the street a city bus belching eye burning smelly
black smoke pulled in front of me completely blocking my path. When it
moved on Collector Number II was gone! I frantically looked in every
direction. No luck. Well at least I now knew who was doing the killing.
The only question was who was he?


***


I quickly finished my errands and made a call to TJ. I filled
him in on what had gone down and giving him my theory, asked him to do
some checking for me. He called me back about two hours
later.


"Hey Sherlock, I got the info. I can't believe that we missed
it. I checked with the prison and yes, our good friend the collector
did have a visitor. About a month ago this guy showed up for visiting
day. It almost freaked out the entire prison. It seems as though our
old friend has a brother, a twin brother. The brother just got out of
prison himself; he did a dime for attempted murder. No parole, served
the entire sentence. I guess that's why we had never heard of him. Some
family, huh?"


"I figured as much. He did have that pasty look about him,
you know, no tan. Well, now that we know what we're up against, we can
stop it. I got all the things I need; we'll start the plan
tonight."


"Okay Bro, you sure you want to do this?"


"I'm sure. I believe it may be the only way to get him. We
can never rest until we do. I just hate you and Alease being targets.
What if I slip up? What if he's smarter than me? I don't know what I'd
do if that happened."


"Take it easy Bro. You know that I wouldn't want anyone else
watching my back. I know what you can do, after all I have seen you in
action, remember. It's a good plan. It's got to work."


A few more minutes of small talk and TJ rang off. As soon as
it got dark I dressed in my newly purchased camouflage patterned outfit
grabbed my previously sorted equipment and headed for TJ's house. The
plan was simple. Wait for Number II to make his move against the James'
and take him out. No Stop, Police, no Drop Your Weapon, just line up
the shot and take him out. I just hoped it worked out to be as simple
as it sounded. I couldn't afford to make any mistakes. Two of my best
friends' lives depended on it.


***


The first stakeout had been on Sunday night. It was now
Wednesday. The Collector was due for execution tomorrow night. If
Number II was going to finish his plan in time then he would have to
make his move tonight. I was primed and ready. Anyway, as ready as I
could be seeing this was my fourth night lying here on this cold hard
hillside behind TJ's house.


I opened my gun case and removed my Bushmaster Bullpup M17S
.223 caliber semi-automatic rifle. The Bushmaster was a great short
distance sniper weapon. I had replaced the standard ten round magazines
with the US Military issued M16 20 round MAGs. You never knew when
those extra rounds might just come in handy I thought as I inserted one
fully loaded magazine. I attached my night vision scope and quickly
scanned the area 360 degrees from my concealment. Nothing moving! I
took a few seconds to more fully check my rifle. Attached to the front
was a Viper .223 Suppressor. Not a complete silencer but from a
distance very adequate. I could fire pretty much as necessary without
giving away my position. I had added a Greenbeam 2000 green laser
sight. The green sight was about 20 times brighter than the regular red
laser sight and had a range up to two miles in darkness. All you had to
do was line the dot up on the target and squeeze the trigger. Not
rocket science, but hey, nobody said I was very smart
anyway.


It was about one o'clock when Number II made his move. I had
checked in with TJ a little before midnight, letting him know that
Super Simon was on the job and had settled in for the long haul. I must
have been daydreaming for I don't think I was dozing when I felt the
cold steel of a gun barrel against the base of my skull. I hadn't heard
a thing. A gravely voice as cold as a Canadian Glacier whispered in my
ear.


"Don't even think about moving. I could just blow your head
off but that would be too easy." A gloved hand reached over and took my
rifle and flung it away. "Now, turn over real slow."


I slowly turned over and moved to a sitting position. He
reached in and removed my Varjag .40 caliber automatic pistol from my
shoulder rig and tossed it away. He smiled at me. At least I think it
was a smile for his thin-lipped slash of a mouth sort of turned up at
the corners. In the same dangerous tone he continued. "So that's what
you look like up close. I'm not impressed. I can't believe you were
able to get the best of Ruppert. Nobody ever got the best of
Ruppert."


Up until now I hadn't said anything. "Ruppert? That must be
the scumbag killer brother of yours? Believe me he was no problem." I
saw his eyes harden and he moved the muzzle of his gun to where it
pointed right between my eyes. He weapon was a long barreled
.22-caliber target pistol with a large round silencer, a killer's gun.
I thought, one of these days my big mouth may just get me into
trouble.


He quietly let out a little laugh. "Yeah, I guess you are a
tough guy after all. Well tough guy there has been a little change of
plans. On the phone I told you that you would be last. That's not going
to happen. First I'm going to kill you then move on down and take care
of your big cop buddy and his wife. I understand your wife left you and
moved to Las Vegas. Well good for her, except that's not going to save
her, or your little girl. Ruppert wants them dead and that's what he's
going to get."


I had suddenly gotten very cold. He was in the driver's seat
and knew it but I had to stop him one way or the other. He had to die
and he had to die now. Maybe he wasn't in the driver's seat as much as
he thought. Taking a deep breath I decided to make my
move.


To divert his attention I tried the oldest trick in the book.
I was desperate and sometimes the tried and true worked best. Looking
past his left shoulder I said loudly. "No TJ don't shoot him we want
him alive." I couldn't believe that he fell for it but for just an
instant his eyes moved and he turned his head slightly to the left. It
was all the time I needed.


Smoothly I reached my right hand behind my back and pulled
out my Walther P-22. On the back of the strap of my shoulder holster I
had cut and placed a small leather holster to hold my .22-caliber
automatic pistol. It hung handgrip down and barrel up far enough down
my back so that a normal search around the neck would miss it. It was
also high enough that a belt search wouldn't find it either, or so I
hoped when I designed it. All I had to do was reach around up under my
jacket for an easy draw.


I think he realized he had made a mistake for a look of fear
came over his face. As his frightened glace returned to me I fired
twice. The sound of my gun was loud against the stillness of the early
morning. The little .22 LR hollow point shells did the trick. He fell
like a rock with two small holes in his forehead. The holes gave him
the look of having two extra eyes. He was dead though, very
dead.


Looking down at the crumpled body I thought. Why do the bad
guys always seem to have the need to talk? What had my old training
officer told me, if you're going to shoot then shoot, you can always
talk later. Sliding my Walther back into its hiding place I turned and
started walking down the hill toward the now blazing window lights. In
the distance I could hear the wail of sirens. I guess TJ had already
made the call.


End