Date: Sun, 16 Jul 2006 20:02:32 -0700
From: Gabriel Duncan <lonelyocean@alamedanet.net>
Subject: Angel Part 15

This story is fiction.
The contents of this story may not be suitable for minors.


Finally : Part Fifteen of Angel
By: Gabriel Duncan

". . . but your release isn't in this game
It's your time to be ashamed
be named the gudgeon
to be the one who gets bludgeoned
just like your cousins
coming in dozens
to watch your blood be spilt . . ."

It had been a slow day.  My last case, a mysterious arson, had been solved
when the kid turned himself in.  The kid said it was just "something to
do".  I guess you could say it's been a slow month.  I had been staying in
late out of habit, sifting through empty paperwork at my desk.  I had been
poring over the names and the places of these files like they had just been
dropped on my desk.  Then the phone rang, at precisely 10:19. I scooped it
up, immediately.

"This is Detective Greene."

"Hello?  Detective?"  It was a woman.  "My name is Helen Throburghe."

Helen told me that her friend, Macy Wallace, had been taking care of
someone and he'd run away.  I told her, catching runaways was a job for the
police.  She should call the dispatcher and that person would be able to
help her.  Helen scoffed and told me there was more.  Adam wasn't missing;
he was staying with Ms. Wallace.  She said the problem was his father.

"So it's the father that ran away?"  I was impatient.  That wasn't what I
was there to work on.  I shouldn't even have been there.

"No," She told me, "His father is going to try and kill him, too."

"So...he's killed someone else?"  I asked.

"Yes," She replied.

I could hear someone talking in the background.  Helen was calling from a
house.  But she hadn't spoken in so long that I had to ask if she was still
on the line.

"I'm here," She spoke more quietly, "He's killed Adam's boyfriend--and,
maybe, his wife, Adam's mother, Eve."

"Is this a joke?"  Adam and Eve, I hadn't heard that one before.  But it
was possible.  Still . . .  "How'd you get this number?  Did you know
making prank phone calls to a law official is a federal offense?"

"I'm not joking!"  Helen was defensive, "I'm a registered LCSW and a
mandated reporter.  We've already called the CPS.  Adam was abused at home,
by his father, Jack.  He's told us that Jack killed his lover in front of
him.  That's why he ran away.  Now, come down here and take a statement."


When I came down the next morning, I knocked on their door.  A caucasion
female in her mid thirties answered the door, accompanied by a canine.  She
identified herself as Helen, the caller.  Another woman, with light brown
hair and captivating green eyes, appeared at the door beside her.  She
introduced herself as "Macy".

Sam, a boy with black hair, brown eyes, and a hole in his left ear, was
sitting at a table in the kitchen.  They told me that Adam was still
asleep.  Sam went quietly into a room across from the kitchen table as the
dog nudged my crotch.  I could hear murmuring.

Macy leaned back against the counter, inadvertently ending in a provocative
pose, "Would you like something to drink, Detective?  Some coffee?"

"Just water, please."  I told her.

Macy was leaning down in front of me; I was looking down her shirt, when
Adam came out his room.

"Adam," Macy addressed the boy, "This is Detective Ash Greene."

Adam shook hands with me, "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," I said.

". . . He wants to ask you some questions about what happened back home,
for a police report."  She smiled at me, "Are you okay with that?"

"Umm, sure," Adam replied, "Can I have some coffee?"

Adam sat opposite to the corner where I was sitting.  Macy came with his
coffee and we got down to business.  Adam answered all of my questions with
a frankness I'd not seen in many victims many times before.  He'd lost
count of how many times his Dad had hit him.  But he was able to tell me
he'd been to the hospital four times because of his father.  And he'd been
out of school for almost a whole school year, all together.  Thankfully,
the boy didn't have any permanent damage.

The others all sat at the table or leaned against the walls or counters
while he retold his tale.  I took notes, furiously, on my laptop.  Jack had
killed his lover, Scott, for sure. Adam expressed his certainty.  Later on,
when I called the LAPD, they said they'd found the body of a teenaged boy
and a middle-aged woman in a secluded wildlife reserve.  When I called Macy
to ask, she said it was only a ten-minute drive away from where Adam used
to live.  Still, there was no sign of the boy's father.

Jack drove furiously across America, for twenty-three hours straight.  He
decided to stop, a little more than halfway through, after he got his
second speeding ticket.

The LAPD had searched their place of residence.  It was a mess, they said.
The furniture was destroyed, and there were take-out boxes littered
everywhere.  The lieutenant I spoke to told me they would post a watch that
night, to see if he would return.  But, they said, it looked like he packed
up and left.  They found a plethora of blood traces when they turned the
black lights over the Luminol.  Traces of puddles were found all over the
bathroom, the living room and the master bedroom--as well as on the walls
and floor around the door in Adam's room.  They conjectured, that's where
it all started.

An hour after I finished faxing the warrants for Jack Wallace's arrest, I
received a phone call from the Missouri State Highway Patrol.  They had
issued Mr. Wallace a ticket for speeding, east on Interstate 4470.  Twenty
minutes later, Oklahoma called to tell us they had issued him a ticket for
tailgating outside of Tulsa.

Jack pulled over at a shady looking roadside motel.  It was the kind of
place, he knew, that would accept his cash without questions.  Before he
went to sleep, that night, he told the empty room that he would find Adam
soon.  And his happy family would be together again.

The credit report came back.  No activity since a day before the tickets.
He must have known.  LAPD said his account at a local bank was closed and
cashed-out, same with credit.  His mobile phone account was cancelled.  He
was coming, and he was close.  >From St. Louis, there would only be a day
between him and Adam.

In the morning, Jack shaved his head, donned a cap and aviator sunglasses;
then he traded in his truck for a bucket of the same type.  He went out
shopping and came back with a pizza, a bottle of J.D. and maps of the
Philadelphia area.  He decided to stay one more night, to keep a low
profile, and get some more sleep.

As I sat at my desk that night, I felt useless.  A murderer was on the
loose, coming for his kid.  I couldn't find him.  There was no sign of him
anywhere.  Highway Patrol officers were working double shifts to find the
guy, but he was nowhere to be found.  I sent out a recent photo of him that
Los Angeles had been kind enough to fax over.  I even included a flawless
description of his truck and license plate.  Nothing.

Before Jack left the next morning, he called Macy.  Her voice was stressed.
But he didn't say that.  He didn't say anything.  Macy told whoever it was
to fuck off.  But, in the back of Macy's mind, Jack was sure, she knew it
was him.

A day went by.  No word.  I had posted two men, undercover, down the
street.  They reported nothing unusual.  Sam and Adam never left the house.
Helen stayed with the boys, only coming and going every once in a while.
She returned with groceries, a bag from Best Buy.  Macy called to tell me
she was receiving hang up calls.  Nothing.  Macy allowed us to tail her to
work.  But still nothing.

Jack had driven by early, the very morning he arrived, pretending to
deliver papers.  Macy's house was quiet; there were two cars in her drive.
One was a black Mercedes-Benz and the other was maroon, of an indiscernible
model in the same price range.

I relieved the watchmen the next day, at noon, and took up my position
directly in front of the house.  In the evening, at approximately four, a
caucasion male, around five feet, ten inches arrived in a blue blazer.  He
had a shaved head and word dark, aviator sunglasses.  His physical
description matched that of Jack Wallace.

I watched patiently as the man knocked on the front door of the Macy
Wallace's residence.  Helen answered.  The man pushed her down, and rushed
past her, into the household.  I immediately called in for back up and got
out of the car.  I withdrew my side arm and reached the door before
Ms. Throburghe had gotten up.

Further inside, I could hear screaming.  The suspect's voice bellowed above
that of Macy, Adam and Sam.  Helen fled from the house.  In the distance,
the sounds of sirens had just become audible.  I looked back in time to see
Jack throw Sam on the kitchen table; broken bits of an omelet-con-plate and
coffee cup squeezed out from under him.  Sam coughed and rolled off the
table.  Jack then took a ten-inch kitchen knife from the knife block on the
counter.

"Jack Wallace!"  I shouted, "Stop!"

Jack seemed oblivious to my presence.  I took three steps towards the
doorway that opened up to the kitchen.

"Stop!"  I shouted again, "Police!"

He turned towards me, brandishing the ten-inch kitchen knife, and began to
approach me.  I shot him twice, once in the shoulder and once in his leg.
Mr. Wallace collapsed.  I kicked the knife out of his reach and assessed
the scene of the crime.  Sam was breathing and sitting up.  He was not
bleeding and didn't seem to be seriously injured.  Macy had been behind
Jack when I shot him, she was hysterically screaming.  Helen was still
outside.

Adam was in his room, hiding behind his bed.  He seemed unharmed and in
shock.

Macy seemed to calm down on her own, once she noticed that I was there and
that she wasn't dead.  Jack lay, groaning in pain.  I looked down at Sam,
sitting on the floor and staring wide-eyed at me.

"You okay, kid?"  I asked him.

Sam nodded.

"Go comfort your friend."  I told him.

Sam slowly stood up and, walking around Jack, went in to comfort Adam.
Three more police officers rushed in and, seeing the situation had been
neutralized, began reading the perpetrator his rights.  The paramedics
strapped Jack into a stretcher and treated Sam in the kitchen.  Two of the
three officers who had rushed in before, came back to begin taking pictures
of the scene and collecting evidence.  The third officer was taking a
statement from Helen on the front steps.

Suddenly, Adam burst out his room, screaming.

"You motherfucker, I fucking hope you rot in hell.  You're not my father;
you're just a pathetic drunk!  And now you're caught.  Fuck you!"  He
screamed until he was actually blue in the face, even after the paramedics
had led him away from the ambulance.

I stood back, observing the scene for my report.  Deep inside, I took a
sadistic pleasure in knowing that Jack, the murderous husband and father,
would be thrown in jail.  And, if I had any say in it, burnt at the stake
for what he's done.

That night, I sat at my desk and sifted through a mound of fresh files.
We'd be able to prosecute him for: one (1) count of breaking and entering;
one (1) count of assault with intent to kill, one (1) count of aggravated
assault, and four (4) counts of attempted murder one.  On top of that, in
Los Angeles he'll be charged with: two (2) counts of first degree murder,
and thirty-six (36) counts of various forms of assault/child-abuse.

So much for the slow month.


After it was all over, they all just stared at the place on the floor where
Jack was once lying.  Then, they looked up, around the room and to the
front door in disbelief.  Adam was the one who broke first.  He exploded in
tears.  Helen squeaked in a mix of in-and exhalation.  Sam sighed,
collapsed in bed with Adam, then yelped and rolled over to face him.  Macy
coughed, then chuckled, a tear streaked down her face, then she laughed
loudly, then cried, then laughed again, then cried, smiling.

It was over.

For the rest of the night, they walked around in a daze.  Helen and Macy
slept in bed together; so did Sam and Adam, but that was only expected.  In
the morning, they would be able to fully take in all that had happened.
But, just for then, they needed a break.

------------------

More to come.