BURDEN OF AN ANCIENT OATH Page 7

  “You know that’s not how this works, right?” I asked, cocking a brow. “I just came here to confirm what I already knew. That recorder isn’t going to change a thing.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off my recorder. Though I was acting strong, I didn’t want anything to happen to that thin slab of metal. In some peculiar way, it became my best friend over the years. I was never good with people, and though I wasn’t a shy person, I never cared much for social interaction.

  She eyed it, looking at the red blinking light, just the same as I did. I saw, from the corner of my eye, as her face twisted across a spectrum of varying emotions—rage, denial, grief, depression, and finally, acceptance that this was done. They all displayed across her face in a matter of seconds, and she dropped the recorder onto the counter.

  Delores collapsed to the floor, the whole store shook at her weight, hitting the ground. She burst out into tears.

  I collected my recorder, leaving it on but pocketing it.

  “Delores…”

  She wept into her cupped hands that barely covered her eyes and cheeks.

  “I’m sorry about this,” I said. I was too. Delores was still a mother, trying to be proud of a son who undoubtedly lied through his teeth about where he was in life. But her obviousness to the situation would be his ultimate downfall, so I understood the emotions she faced. “Really, I am. I know what it’s like to feel lost and alone, abandoned by the world. But I want you to know that you’re not alone. Your son has committed these crimes and brought this onto himself. But you don’t have to think about it again, nor do you have to worry. You’re stronger than you could ever imagine.”

  I didn’t know if my fortune cookie wisdom would help Delores through whatever anguish she felt. But I also didn’t have much else to give.

  She stayed there, sobbing behind the counter. Saying nothing more, either because she was too afraid of the implications, or because this was practically over.

  I left her there, knowing that I had something to go on now. And with a quick call to see where Gwen was, I prepared to bring Oscar Carlisle to justice.

  Chapter 14

  Jack

  “So, Aaron pulled through after all?” Gwen asked, sitting smugly in the passenger seat of my Dodge Charger. She had her window cracked, letting out the smoke from my cigarette while we drove through the late evening streets of New York.

  “I did, and if I didn’t know any better, that boy might think it’s his time to shine in the field,” I chuckled, ashing out my window. I hated the thought of letting him join me, a little bit more than having Gwen beside me that night.

  It was so easy for something to go wrong, for someone to get hurt out in the real world, and I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if something happened to someone because of me. But I wasn’t one to have a partner anymore, either. The idea of having someone else who relied on me was terrifying.

  If it was just me, I was the only one in the firing line.

  “You know, maybe it’s time to give him a shot. He’s clearly got the fundamentals down, and he’s not going anywhere behind that desk,” Gwen replied.

  “And what, having him run off like you did after I got you into the field?” I teased.

  “Well, look at what I’ve become since. Somehow, I even manage to pull some big cases like the living legend, Jack Mercer. If that’s not an accomplishment, I don’t know what is,” she replied, giving me a cheeky grin.

  I thought about that statement for a while. Did anyone actually consider me a living legend? I couldn’t really believe it myself. I was just some guy living out in New York City with the ability to find criminals that most struggled with. I didn’t consider myself unique, nor did I want others to think I was either. I just had a knack for thinking outside of the box.

  “He’s not ready yet,” I decided to get back on topic. I hated talking about myself or any accomplishments I might’ve received in years past. A detective is only as good as their last case—that’s a motto I live by anyway. “He’s going to make a mistake or get shot out there in the field, and then who’s going to be around to help him?”

  “You are, you dumbass,” Gwen replied. “I’m not saying kick him into the deep end. Aaron’s yearning for it, though, so take his hand and walk him through the shallows until he’s ready to go about it himself.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” I shrugged.

  The worst of it was, I knew she was right. I was too afraid of letting anything happen to my team that I’d never be ready to take him into the field. I didn’t want the responsibility, nor did I want another man’s blood on my hands. But Aaron was a good detective, especially on paper, so he’d undoubtedly kill it in the field.

  I didn’t let anyone onto this.

  “Look, I can see you’re uncomfortable, so I’ll drop it. But, Jack, it’s really something you should consider,” Gwen finished on the matter. “That being said, let’s start focusing. We’re not far off from Oscar’s home now.”

  “I know. Can you actually believe we managed to find something on this case? If I’m frank, I was starting to lose all hope and think it was a lost cause.”

  “You and me both,” Gwen replied. “But now, our man’s just a few miles away, and we’re going to walk away with the satisfaction of bringing down a crazed lunatic.”

  “You think that’s it? This one man’s been causing so much havoc?” I asked, turning to her for a brief moment before setting my eyes back on the road.

  “I don’t know if I’m honest. A girl can dream, though, right?” Gwen replied.

  “A girl can dream,” I nodded my head.

  I think we both knew that it wasn’t true. That whatever the Order of the Phoenix was, it was more significant than just one man… even now, 30-odd years later. We wouldn’t admit it, lest it bring a bad omen, but Oscar Carlisle was only a stepping stone to the greater plot.

  “You think Delores made any attempts to get in touch with Oscar?” Gwen asked, after a few miles of silence.

  I got lost to thought, and I supposed she did too, driving in the direction of Oscar’s home.

  “I’m gonna have to guess that she definitely did, yes. But it seems like a very one-way street between the two. Delores regards him to an extremely high level, while it appears that Oscar wants little to nothing to do with her. So, I’m guessing she gave him a call to tip him off that we were on the way, but he won’t check her messages until long after. If anything, he’d be a little panicky by the time we get there rather than on the run already.”

  “Some interesting logic you have there,” Gwen brought a hand under her chin. “You really think you know people that well to read a man you’ve never met?”

  “Yes,” a straightforward answer to a simple question. “We’re also talking about a man that keeps taxidermied squirrels at the ready to dress up like anyone he wants. He rarely uses the internet, so what need does he have for a phone? You know, all those little things that build up a man’s character…”

  “Aren’t those the ones that are usually a little too attached to their mothers? The Norman Bates types,” Gwen asked.

  I understood her concern and her doubts about trusting my gut instinct. And now, I realized, I was taking a somewhat enormous gamble on this by not sending a car ahead or making sure Delores stayed quiet.

  “You’re just putting doubts in my head, and I’m trying to focus,” I said, shaking the thoughts away. I always trusted my gut before anything else, and it never once treated me wrong. Now, I was hoping today wasn’t the first day.

  “We’re here now anyway,” I said, taking the final turn into the rundown neighborhood where Oscar Carlisle lived. Most of the houses down the street looked abandoned, as if this was a ghost town rather than a prospering settlement.

  Most of the yards were disheveled with dirt yards and tattered fences. Most houses had no lights on, with only a few that looked like candlelight. It was only the house furthest down the street, sitting on a corner with a car park
ed in the driveway. A Chevy Impala, with the same number plates Aaron ran.

  Behind it, another dilapidated house stood. A light shined from the front window with no curtains blocking it. Inside, I could see him walking up and down with a newspaper in his hands.

  Oscar Carlisle, dressed now in what looked like a black woman’s nightgown, but the same man who delivered a letter to Jane’s home while I was watching. The same man who’d been terrorizing my friends and their family. The same man that brought my world into a tailspin for the better part of two weeks.

  My blood boiled at the mere sight of him.

  “Jack,” Gwen’s voice distracted me. I stopped in the middle of the road at the sight of him and lost myself to deep thought. “Maybe we should pull over?” she questioned.

  “Right, yes,” I said, driving a few houses up the road before pulling up to the sidewalk. Through the rearview mirror, I kept a constant focus on Oscar’s home.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay in there?” Gwen reached out and took my hand, clutching the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.

  “I don’t know,” I replied honestly. The thought of the threat on Anastasia Becket’s life hit me again and made me furious.

  “If you’re not ready…”

  “No, I’m ready. Let’s go,” I said. “Gwen, I want you to stay behind me, okay? We don’t know what’s going to happen in there, and I don’t think I could live with myself if I was the reason you got hurt.”

  “Okay, Jack, I’ll stay behind you.”

  “Then let’s get in there and end this thing,” I said, pulling myself out of the car. Gwen followed close behind as we approached Oscar’s home.

  Chapter 15

  Jack

  Oscar Carlisle scattered around the house, from one end to another, without much purpose. Taking a moment to observe him from outside, we looked through the window with no curtains. There were no furnishings in his home, not that I could see anyway, with papers pinned to the wall.

  Oscar was a short man, round like his mother, with a fading hairline. The patchy beard on his face felt fitting to his character. The black gown around his body was full of holes from cigarettes that he seemingly sucked back on one after the other.

  Oscar was a mess, and maybe some time behind bars would sort him out, I considered.

  He mumbled to himself, often shouting obscenities before maniacally laughing, then continuing on with whatever he was doing. I couldn’t help but think he was writing more devilish letters for Jane, Spencer, or someone in my crew.

  After our brief stop outside, watching him from the fence line, Gwen and I approached the front door.

  “You think he’s going to give us any problems?” she whispered into my ear.

  “I don’t,” I replied. “I think he’ll drop like a kitten the second we bust down the door.”

  Purely by the look of him, I saw a weak man. His enormous size had no strength behind it.

  On the ride to his house, I had the delusion that it would end there that night. That we’d bust down the door and bring Oscar to prison, he’d confess to everything, and this case would be over. But looking at him, the waste of space that occupied this dead street, I knew this was only the first stepping stone to ending this thing.

  We walked slow and steady up the staircase, weapons drawn. I clutched my revolver in one hand, looking over to Gwen, who inspected her Colt M1911. When her check was done, making sure the safety was off, I pressed a shoulder against the wall beside the door.

  “How are we going to do this?” she asked, following instructions to stay behind me.

  “I guess we go in weapons drawn and get him in restraints as quickly as possible. Once he’s down, clear the rest of the house and make sure that he doesn’t have anyone else waiting to help. Don’t open fire unless absolutely necessary,” I replied.

  “The textbook approach then?” Gwen winked. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

  I ignored the comment, staying as focused as possible. With a single deep breath, I pushed off the wall, bringing a boot to the handle. The door swung open without much give.

  Keeping my gun in the air, focused on the entry door into the living room, Oscar’s last known location, I shouted.

  “Oscar Carlisle, you are under arrest under suspicion to harm Jane Dench and Spencer Williamson. Come out with your hands up.”

  I heard a heavy thud in the room over and approached with Gwen close behind. The first words I heard Oscar Carlisle say were, “I didn’t do nothing.”

  Clearing left, then right, I fixed my gun on Oscar. Gwen did the same, clearing any corners I could’ve missed. Oscar remained on his knees, eyes wide, shaking his head.

  “I didn’t do nothing,” he said again, shaking his head.

  “I didn’t do nothing,” he repeated once more and then over again in fast, short bursts.

  Gwen kept her gun fixed on Oscar while I neared, tucking my revolver back into the holster and drawing cuffs instead. They barely clicked over the second notch on his large wrists.

  “Oscar, is there anyone else in the house?” I asked.

  He shook his head, never breaking the phrase I didn’t do nothing.

  As expected, Oscar’s home had nothing in it. The living room was empty, barring a chair and a table, with the papers hanging from the wall. A small TV stood in one corner but received no station feedback, instead, running with a low hum and static display.

  The papers hanging from the wall were previous drafts of letters that never got sent—many of them with red underlining in pencils, where mistakes in grammar or spelling stood. Most, but not all, were written in the same calligraphy that everyone involved in the case had seen up until now.

  As instructed, once we detained Oscar, Gwen and I made our way through the house, clearing room by room. It was a terrible, two-bedroom house, and much like the living room, no other rooms were furnished. The bedroom, the only other with anything in it, had a pile of dirty clothes and a mattress without a base.

  In the bedroom, there was a laptop that we collected for evidence to perhaps stand a chance to furthering this case. Now that I saw him in person, I knew that Oscar Carlisle wasn’t our man. He was just a poor fool, maybe down on his luck, trying to do something he believed in.

  And if he was the mastermind behind it all, he sure as hell fooled me.

  “Oscar, calm down,” I said, entering the living room once the search of his house was complete. In our time away, he collapsed into a ball on the floor with his hands behind his back. Tears spilled from his eyes and he wailed passionately. “We know that you’re not the one we’re after.”

  “What do you mean?” he sniffed and snorted. By the way he spoke, I could tell there was something wrong with him. He wasn’t a complete fool, but he wasn’t wholly normal either—the long slurred, drawn-out speech, almost as if deaf without the hearing problems. I knew I could use whatever brain damage he suffered to my advantage.

  “I know you’re not the man I’m hunting here,” I said. “You just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I’m going need you to tell me who put you up to all of this.”

  I saw the switch in his eyes. As though he’d just seen a ghost.

  “No, I can’t do that,” he shook his head frantically. “I won’t do it, no.”

  He repeated the phrase, just as he did earlier.

  “Then I’m going to have to take you to jail, man. I don’t want to do that to you. You’re just a kid trying to write your stories. You think they’ll let you write in prison?” I dropped to bended knee, trying to appeal to Oscar.

  “They won’t let me write?” he looked up at me with puppy dog eyes, readying to spill once more.

  “Of course not. That’s what they do in prison—they take away the things you love,” I said.

  He nodded his head, opening his mouth to speak, and just when I thought I hooked him, Oscar shook his head. “I can’t do it. I can’t tell you. I can’t, I shan't, and I won't.
”

  “Jack, there’s no point in pressing this further,” Gwen said, tapping me on my shoulder. “I think it’s best we get him down to the station and revisit it later.”

  Being so close to a breakthrough, I wanted it to happen. I was desperate for him to tell me who was behind it.

  But at least I knew there was someone behind it after all. Oscar didn’t give me a name, nor did he give me any further details to benefit my investigation. Still, he gave me enough to know that I wasn’t crazy in thinking there was a more prominent player in this game.

  Gwen and I booked Oscar Carlisle into the station, giving them somewhat express orders not to provide him with a pen and paper. Apart from that, they could process him usually until our return the following day for a follow-up interrogation.

  Now, the chase was on, and it was only a matter of time until something big happened.

  Chapter 16

  Jack

  “You know I still think this is a terrible idea, right?” I ran a hand through my hair, messing up all the work Gwen just did to make sure it was tucked right. I hid it under the fedora anyway, so there was no cause for concern.

  “I do,” she replied, letting out a heavy sigh. “But I think it’s right. They’re both going through this, and it’s better to do it together rather than alone.”

  “Well, then, let’s get in there and see how it goes,” I said.

  We sat together in the parking lot of a strip mall just outside the city. After the previous night’s events, I knew it was the worst time to let Spencer and Jane meet, but I wasn’t going to burst Gwen’s bubble. She seemed excited about it.

  Getting out of the car, we walked together into the Monte Carlo steakhouse. Jane and her husband sat alone, sharing a drink. They looked almost happy, probably on news that we made an arrest on a potential suspect. Again, I refused to take that away from them.

  “Ah, you must be the detective, Jack Mercer,” he said as we approached the table.