Hunting a killer, p.1
Hunting a Killer, page 1
Hunting a Killer
By Edward Kendrick
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2019 Edward Kendrick
ISBN 9781646560387
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
Hunting a Killer
By Edward Kendrick
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 1
Mika rolled the beer bottle between his hands, his thoughts on what he’d found when he walked into the house less than a week ago—the bodies of his mother and brother slaughtered in what the police were calling a home invasion gone wrong.
“Maybe they’re right,” he said under his breath.
He didn’t believe it. He hadn’t when they’d first suggested it, or at his mother’s funeral when the pastor tried to comfort him by telling him the police would find whoever was responsible.
“Ready for another one?” the bartender asked.
“Does it look like I am?” Mika replied bitingly, holding up the bottle which was almost full.
“You’ve been nursing that for the last half hour. If you’re not going to drink it, I suggest you find somewhere else to kill time. There’s people waiting for seats.”
Mika wanted to tell him to fuck off but didn’t. With the mood he was in, he might be tempted to take it farther than that. Ending up in jail on a drunk-and-disorderly charge wasn’t something he wanted to happen, especially since he was sober.
Carefully setting the bottle down, he got up and wended his way through the crowd toward the bar’s front door. The bouncer’s hand on his shoulder before he got there stopped him, as did the man saying, “You might want to pay for your drink.”
“Or not,” Mika muttered, but he walked back and slapped down the price of the beer on the bar.
The bouncer had followed him, probably to make certain he did pay, Mika figured. Now he said with a trace of amusement, “No tip?”
“For what?” Mika replied angrily, his hands fisting. “Being hassled because I didn’t order a second, and a third?”
“Kick it down a notch,” the bouncer said. “Whatever your problem is, don’t take it out on me or him.” He gestured toward the bartender.
“Yeah. Sorry.” He wasn’t, but he didn’t want any trouble, either. Digging out a dollar, he put it on top of the rest of the cash. “Happy?”
The bouncer smiled. “Ecstatic.”
Mika rolled his eyes at what he figured was the bouncer’s idea of a joke, and then headed to the front entrance again. The man was right behind him until they got there. Then, with a mocking bow, he opened the door for Mika, saying, “Have a good evening.” As Mika moved past him, the bouncer added, “Name’s Buck, by the way. If you want to talk about whatever’s got your tail in a twist, I’ll listen, between checking IDs.”
“Wouldn’t do any good,” Mika replied. “Talking won’t change anything.” He was surprised Buck had offered. Bored and wanting something to do? Probably.
“True, but it might help you see things differently.”
“A psychiatrist bouncer?”
Buck shrugged. “Not really. I’ve been working in bars long enough to know that most of the time all drinking does is bury the problem, rather than solving it.”
“Since I wasn’t drinking…”
“I saw. If I had to guess, I’d say you were hiding. Probably not from someone, but from something, and it’s pretty bad from the expressions I saw on your face a couple of times.”
“You were watching me?” Mika didn’t like that idea in the least. “Why?”
Buck shrugged. “I’m a people person…” He paused to ask a couple who looked barely out of their teens for their ID. Apparently they passed, because he let them in. “As I was saying, I’m interested in people and what makes them tick.” He chuckled. “Usually, I don’t find out, so I let my imagination take over. It kills the time.”
“So in my case you decided to find out?”
Buck lifted a shoulder. “Like I said, sometimes talking helps.”
“Sometimes it brings back things you wish you could forget,” Mika retorted. “Look, thanks for offering to listen but…” He shook his head, stepped outside, and walked away.
* * * *
Buck was tempted to go after him, and might have if he wasn’t working. He did take a moment, when he had the chance, to ask the bartender if the guy—I didn’t get his name and should have—had been in before tonight. He thought he’d have recognized him if he had, but he wanted to be certain one way or the other.
“The man who was taking up space?” the bartender asked dryly. “Nope. Never saw him before. Why?”
“Just wondered. Did he say anything other than ordering a drink?”
“Nope. Thanks for getting him back here to pay.”
Buck smiled. “It’s part of the job, if I do catch someone trying not to. In his case, I don’t think it was intentional, but still.”
“Yeah, well either way, thanks.”
Buck went back to the door, keeping one eye on the people coming in—and another on the men and women already inside—looking for potential problems. He wondered if the guy would be back sometime and figured probably not.
Whatever his problem is, he’s not about to talk about it to a stranger. Or a friend, I suspect, or he wouldn’t have been here thinking about drowning his sorrows. Wonder why he changed his mind? Not that I’ll ever find out.
* * * *
Mika flopped face down on the bed in the motel room he was renting for the time being. There was no way he could have stayed at the house after the murders of his mother, Anna, and brother, Reko.
“I don’t care what they say, that was no home invasion. At least not the way the cops are thinking. Someone breaking in to steal whatever they can find might, maybe, shoot the homeowners to keep them from telling the cops what they looked like. But for damned sure they wouldn’t have cut them up the way Mom and Reko were. That was done out of hate or rage.”
He rolled over, staring up at the ceiling. “Who were they, and why our house? It’s not like there was anything worth stealing. We never did have anything of real value. It wasn’t the way we lived. If Dad hadn’t died, and Uncle Elias hadn’t insisted we move back to civilization, as he put it, we’d still be where we grew up. Civilization my ass.”
Realizing it was late, and knowing he had to be at the garage first thing in the morning, Mika went to shower, pushing his problems to the back of his mind for the time being. There wasn’t anything he could do about what happened until he figured out who wanted his mom and brother—and probably him if he’d been there—dead.
The reason he hadn’t been there haunted him. He’d met a guy who had brought his fancy car to the garage to have some work done on it. He was tall, dark, and sexy, or at least Mika thought he was. So when he’d come to pick up the car Saturday afternoon, and asked Mika if he wanted to go out for a drink, Mika had jumped at the chance to get to know him better. In this case, ‘better’ meant spending the night with the man.
He had arrived home soon after ten Sunday morning, and walked in on a scene so bloody and horrifying he knew he would remember it until the day he died. His brother was curled in a fetal position in the middle of the living room floor, as if he’d been trying to protect himself from the knife, or knives, that had sliced his chest, arms, and back. His mother was on her stomach in the doorway to the dining room, blood pooling under her body, a bullet wound visible in the back of her head.
“My guess, right now,” Detective Windom said an hour later, after what Mika considered a cursory examination of the crime scene, “is that the thieves tortured them, trying to find out where they kept the valuables. You mother tried to escape while they worked on your brother and they shot her, and then him.”
“There wasn’t anything worth stealing,” Mika had protested. “Nothing!”
“But the thieves didn’t know that,” Windom pointed out, as if he thought Mika was too stupid to figure it out for himself.
That had been a week ago.
His Uncle Elias, his mother’s brother, had flown into the city as soon as he’d heard about the murders, making decisions that weren’t his to make, in Mika’s opinion.
“I wasn’t, I’m not,” Mika had said more than once, but not to his uncle’s face.
After the coroner released the bodies, Elias had arranged for the funerals and burials, both on the same day because, as he’d put it, “Why prolong the agony.” When Mika had protested about them being buried in the local Lutheran cemetery, his uncle had told him that Anna had been a Protestant before she “took up with your father, who forced her to follow his insane heathen beliefs.” Mika had been too distraught to argue, even though he knew that wasn’t the truth.
Now, he was—hiding out? Is that what I’m doing? Afraid whoever killed them will come after me? Are the police right about its being a home invasion? Am I trying to make something more of it because I can’t accept it was only a random killing?
He had wondered that before. Now, as he got ready to go to work Monday morning, the same thoughts ran through his mind. If he’d had someone to talk to about them, maybe it would have helped, but he didn’t. He didn’t have any real friends, not even among the guys he worked with at the garage. His uncle had left two days ago, after turning the execution of his sister’s will over to a lawyer he’d hired. “Your parents were fools,” he’d said scathingly. “But at least they had sense enough to make wills, not that Anna got much when your father died. If it hadn’t been for me…” He left the rest unsaid; as well he should have, in Mika’s considered opinion.
As the only surviving member of his family, other than his uncle, and the sole heir, Mika had agreed to let the lawyer handle everything, including the sale of the house. Not that he’d be rich when that happened, as it was heavily mortgaged. The lawyer had suggested that the furniture and other household belongings be sold as well, once Mika had gone through the house to remove things he wanted to keep.
“Like what?” Mika had asked sadly. “My stuff? Yeah. Photos? Books? We didn’t own anything worth…anything.”
He’d packed a few clothes before moving to the motel but put off returning for the rest although knew he should go. Tomorrow, and then…find a place to live? A necessity, he knew. All he had to do was get past his sorrow and make it happen.
* * * *
“Off for lunch?” his boss asked when Mika walked past the garage office.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be back in an hour.” As always. God forbid I take even a minute more than that.
His boss nodded, reminding him that the car he was working on was due to be picked up before closing that afternoon.
A few minutes later, Mika was sitting on the patio of a local restaurant, looking at the burger and fries he’d ordered, wondering why he hadn’t gone for something more interesting, like spaghetti and meatballs.
“Do you always stare at what you’ve ordered, instead of eating or drinking it?” an amused voice asked.
Mika looked up. It took him a moment to realize the man speaking was the bouncer from the bar he’d visited the previous evening. “Not always,” he replied with a brief smile.
The man, Buck if he remembered correctly, was carrying a tray. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked. “All the other tables are full.”
Mika saw he was right, so he shrugged. “Be my guest.”
“Thanks.” Buck pulled out a chair and set down the tray, which held two burgers, coleslaw, and a take-out cup of coffee. “I didn’t expect to run into you, here,” he said. “You work in the area?”
“At the garage.” Mika pointed down the street.
“Cool.” Buck took a bite of his burger, then said, “You didn’t tell me your name, last night.”
“Why would I?” Mika retorted.
“No reason, I guess, other than that I told you mine.” Buck cocked his head in question.
“Yeah, well…Okay. I’m Mika.”
“Mika? I don’t think I’ve met anyone named Mika before. It sounds…foreign.”
“So I’ve been told, too often,” Mika replied dryly. “It’s Finnish, and no, I’m not from there. My mother’s parents were, and I’m named after her father, my grandfather.”
“I see. Presuming you’re not an only child, you must be the oldest boy, unless your brother was named after your father’s father.”
“Presumption.” Mika picked up his burger, sighed, and took a bite.
“But I was right, right?”
“Wrong on both counts. I wasn’t an only, and my brother was named after Mom’s grandfather, our great-grandfather.”
“So your father got left out?”
“Nope. They did the same thing with our middle names taking them from his side of the family. Mine is Aiden, Reko’s was Ian.”
“Irish or Scottish? And why are you talking about your brother like he’s not around?”
“Because he isn’t,” Mika replied tightly.
“Damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to open old wounds,” Buck said, sounding as if he meant it.
“Not old.” Mika bit back on saying anything more. It wasn’t Buck’s business.
Buck obviously got the message, because he concentrated on eating. Mika had finished and was about to leave when Buck asked, “One of the wars going on…everywhere?”
It took Mika a second to understand what he was asking. He shook his head then blurted out, “He was murdered.”
“Damn. Hell. I’m sorry. No wonder you’re so uptight.”
With a nod, Mika stood.
“Look, if you feel like talking sometime, you know where to find me,” Buck said. “I’m good at listening, for what that’s worth.”
All Mika could think to reply was, “Thanks.” He picked up his tray, dropping it off at the return counter. As he walked back outside, Buck was coming toward him, obviously planning on doing the same thing.
“I meant it,” Buck said. “Sometimes talking helps.”
“It won’t bring him or my mom back,” Mika retorted. He continued walking without looking back, glad that Buck didn’t try to pursue the issue.
Chapter 2
Buck was almost finished with his shift at the bar and had done his periodic walk-through to make certain everyone was behaving. It was a relatively slow night, being a Wednesday, so there were no problems he had to deal with. Returning to his stool by the front entrance, he watched the late-night denizens of the city heading home or on to wherever they were going. He waved to a couple of homeless guys who were regulars in the area, glad as always that he wasn’t one of them. His might not be the most exciting or up-scale job, but at least it kept him in food and a place to stay and gave him cash when he wanted to take in a movie or put gas in his car so he could get out of town on his days off.
The bartender had just announced last call, when two obviously inebriated guys tried to enter the bar. Buck politely but firmly told them they were too late, much to their disgust. They argued with him, finally getting the fact he wasn’t going to let them in and took off. He was about to tell another man the same thing when he realized, much to his surprise, that it was Mika.
“Going to order a beer and stare at it,” Buck teased. “If so, you’re too late. We’re about to close.”
Mika shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep so I figured maybe if I took a walk…” He swallowed hard. “Okay, not quite the truth. I was wide awake, tossing and turning, and I remembered what you said, and you’re the only person who has even seemed to give a damn even if you don’t know me, and…”
“You need to get everything out before it breaks you.”
“Yeah. I know it’s asking a lot, and it’s late, and you probably want to get home…”
Buck chuckled. “Do you ever finish a sentence?”
For a second, a smile flashed over Mika’s lips. “Apparently not tonight.”
“Come on inside. I have closing chores, and then we can go get some coffee?” He looked at Mika in question.
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
Mika settled at a table by the door while Buck did what he needed to so he could leave. When he finished, he suggested they head to an all-night diner two blocks from the bar. He was certain going there was a good idea, even though he wasn’t sure why he’d offered. All he knew was that this man he didn’t really know, except very casually, if that, was hurting and needed someone to listen to him.
