Simon Says: Case of Vengeance by the Letter (standard:mystery, 4059 words)
Author: pjlawton	Added: Jan 20 2004	Views/Reads: 3481/2486	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A hard-boild private detective's past comes back to haunt him.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

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 cliché 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 


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