He Was Good At Hiding His Dark Side Until He Wasn’t

Detectives Troy Quartermain and A.J. Palin sit in the observation room’s front row.

“Full house,” A.J. comments.

“These families have been waiting fifteen years for this… and so have I,” Troy replies.

“I’m still uncomfortable that their bodies were never found.”

“The girls are dead, A.J. Their blood was all over the parking lot. Milne’s shyster lawyer used corpus delicti to get him a second trial. He didn’t count on getting a second jury that was more convinced of his guilt than the first.”

“There was another suspect…”

“Yeah, Rollo Lloyd, the high school hood. He was so stupid, it would take him an hour to cook minute rice. But he had an alibi. He was sixty miles away in Whaley Lake with two buddies.”

“Sixty miles isn’t far away,” A.J. points out.

“True, he had plenty of time to drive back here to Bitter End, commit the murder, and go back to Whaley Lake. But his truck was seen outside a bar in Whaley Lake at the time of the murders…”

“Still doesn’t mean he was there.”

“Lloyd got into a fight in the bar. The two locals he punched out vouched for him.”

“It still doesn’t track for me,” A.J. says. “The faculty and the kids Milne counseled all said he was a caring, gentle man, hardly the type of guy to stab those girls to death.”

“He was good at hiding his dark side… until he wasn’t.”

The curtain is pulled back, revealing Martin Milne strapped to the electric chair. With his head, beard, and mustache shaved, the distraught Milne already looks dead.

Warden Ethan Laidlaw blinks at the clock through his thick glasses.

“Any last words, Milne?”

Milne’s soft, crystal blue eyes scan the spectators. “I’ll quote Alexander Pope: On wrongs, swift vengeance waits.”

A leather hood is placed over Milne’s head.

“Leave it to Tennessee to be one of the few states that still uses the electric chair,” A.J. says. “It’s barbaric.”

“So’s killing three eighteen-year-old girls,” Troy responds.

A twenty-eight-year veteran of the Bitter End Police Force, Troy’s by-the-book mentality shows in his jagged, pockmarked features. In contrast, after ten years on the force, A.J. still possesses his blonde beach boy looks and broad-minded principles.

Warden Laidlaw signals Max Volta. The sullen executioner pats his toupee, throwing the switch that sends two thousand volts of electricity through Martin Milne’s body.

Milne’s body jerks and spasms for fifty-five seconds. The electrode on his left leg falls off, and Milne screams in pain as blood pours down his shirt.

Sobbing hysterically and retching, the parents of Mia Morgenthau, the second victim, rush out into the hallway.

Wisps of smoke rise from Milne’s hood.

Kelsey Croak, the prison doctor, a ruffled, taciturn septuagenarian, examines Milne’s body.

“This man is still alive.”

Volta’s hands quiver as he reattaches the electrode to Milne’s leg.

“Volta’s soused. That’s why it didn’t work,” A.J. comments.

Dr. Croak and Warden Laidlaw try to ignore Milne’s muffled moans.

Warden Laidlaw glares at Volta. “Give him another jolt, and don’t screw it up this time.”

“Maybe that’s a sign he didn’t do it,” A.J. whispers to Troy.

Troy’s dark eyes narrow. “Don’t weaken. Justice must be served.”

Volta pats his toupee, throwing the switch. An odor of burning flesh permeates the execution room. Milne’s legs catch fire, and sparks shoot from under his hood.

A minute later, Dr. Croak checks for a heartbeat.

Dr. Croak looks mournfully at Warden Laidlaw, who blinks nervously.

“You’re kidding me! DO IT AGAIN!”

Milne’s lawyer rushes to the execution room, banging on the door.

“You can’t do this! It’s inhumane!”

Volta taps his toupee, throwing the switch.

Milne wails as the death chamber fills from the floor to the ceiling with a smoky haze.

The lights flicker. Both rooms go black. All that can be heard is the sizzling of Milne’s flesh and the spectator’s panic-stricken cries.

***

Cassandra Seer sips her morning coffee, her brow creasing with worry as she reads the newspaper.

Her husband, Horst, breezes by the kitchen table, pecking her on the cheek.

“Don’t let the news upset you.”

“Poor Judge Hamner. Such a sensitive, kind man.”

“He was eighty-five, Cassandra. We all have to die sometime. But it’s been a tough week for you, starting with Martin’s botched execution two days ago.”

Walking in a daze into the living room, Cassandra stares at the picture on the fireplace mantle of Judge Hamner, Martin Milne, and herself.

Martin and Cassandra are holding Teacher of the Year plaques that Judge Hamner had presented to them.

“Stop torturing yourself,” Horst says.

“I knew Martin Milne for five years. He turned some of the toughest kids in the school into honor students. He’s not a killer. That anonymous caller who called the police set him up.”

“He had the bloody knife with the girls' DNA on it in his trunk.”

Cassandra picks up the picture, sighing heavily.

She feels her temperature rise. Her vision blurs, and her heart pounds.

She closes her eyes, wobbling.

“Are you all right, Cassandra?”

She sees Judge Hamner lying in bed. A blue-eyed man with a beard and mustache hovers over him in the darkness.

He has a gleaming butcher knife in his hand.

***

Max Volta finishes his second bottle of bourbon, surprised he’s still conscious. He pushes the newspaper with Judge Hamner’s obituary aside, muttering, “That’s what you get for blaming Milne’s botched execution on me and suspending me. You get dead.”

“And so do you,” a voice in his head says.

It’s not his.

Volta looks up at a hazy, bearded apparition. Its crystal blue eyes lock with his as it raises a gleaming butcher knife.

***

A.J. huffs as he plops behind his desk.

“Any change in Milne’s condition?” Troy asks.

“Nope. He’s still in a coma.”

“I don’t get it. If the two thousand volts didn’t kill him, his third-degree burns should have.”

“Maybe he’s got something to live for,” A.J. replies.

A.J. sees Cassandra Seer talking to an officer near the squad room door.

“Could this day get any better? Look who’s here.”

“Isn’t that the teacher who claims she’s clairvoyant?” Troy asks.

“Yeah. She had a vision that the high school’s bookkeeper and the principal were having an affair, and they planned to run away to Paris.”

“Foolish woman,” Troy grumbles.

“Just for a giggle, Detective McMurtry researched the principal’s bank account, which had half a million in it. He also found two tickets to Paris in the principal’s desk drawer. But the school fired her because they figured she had to be in on it.”

Cassandra approaches the detectives, breathlessly declaring, “A man’s been murdered!”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. I saw him in a vision. He’s a pasty, sad man with a toupee. He drinks a lot.”

“Volta,” A.J. says.

Troy exhales heavily. “How was he murdered?”

“He was stabbed, like Judge Hamner.”

Troy glances at A.J. “We didn’t tell the press that the Judge had been stabbed.”

A.J. points at his head. “See? Clairvoyant!”

“What did the man look like?” Troy asks.

“He had piercing blue eyes, a beard, and a mustache.”

***

A.J. hangs up his phone.

“That was Rollins. He went to Max Volta’s house. Cassandra Seer was right. He’s dead.”

“I’m not surprised. He was a lush.”

“The booze didn’t get him. He was stabbed to death.”

Troy’s answer drips with sarcasm. “Maybe Cassandra Seer killed him.”

“First Judge Hamner, now Volta. Someone may have a bone to pick with the people connected to Milne’s execution. You arrested him. Maybe you should watch your back.”

“I promise to stay away from butchers, okay? Let’s call it a day.”

A.J. plants a large duffle bag on his desk.

“What’s up with that?” Troy asks.

“Me and Josie are done.”

“She kicked you out?”

“Let’s just say our relationship ran its course. I figure I can stay at the Y for a few days until I can find a new place.”

“My daughter’s away at college. You can stay in her bedroom.”

Troy pulls out his keys, handing one to A.J.

“Here’s the front door key. I’ll stop off at Mario’s, pick up a pizza, some cannolis, and beer, and we can watch the Braves game.”

***

A.J. gazes out the back window, marveling at Troy’s pristine backyard.

A shadow moves past the back door, catching his eye.

Looking again and seeing nothing except manicured grass, A.J. shrugs.

He peers into the refrigerator, pulling out a beer.

A sharp, intense pain spreads across his back.

He turns around. Coughing up blood, he watches as a butcher knife plunges into his chest.

***

Troy is waiting by Mario’s checkout counter when several police cars speed by, their flashing lights illuminating the night.

Troy’s tires screech as he pulls up to his house. He rushes out of the car but is corralled by a burly police officer.

“What is this, Velez?”

“We got a call from your partner. He said someone attacked him. Those were his last words.”

***

Cassandra shakes Troy’s hand.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. And I owe you an apology. I couldn’t face going to the morgue with you to look at A.J. It’s funny. We spent ten years together, and I never knew his first name.”

“Anthony Joshua.”

“Thanks… Did you touch him?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“The last thing Detective Palin saw was his killer, a man with light blue eyes, a dark beard, and a mustache.”

“Milne. Feel like helping me close a case?”

***

Troy and Cassandra stand next to Martin Milne’s hospital bed.

“Any change in his vital signs?” Troy asks the nurse.

“His heart rate spiked a few times. Once, about a week ago. The second time was last night.”

“Around seven thirty…”

“Right. How did you know?”

“That’s when my partner died.”

The nurse stares at them in disbelief as she exits.

“There’s your killer,” Troy says, looking down at Milne as he breathes through a respirator. “You want to tell me how he did it?”

“Martin studied astral projection. He used to laugh that it would make him look cooler to the students. I didn’t think he was serious about it, but he’s had fifteen years to perfect his interest. He’s figured out how to create a separate self, leave his body, and take his vengeance.”

“He wants to get even with everyone connected to his execution. But A.J. was in high school when Milne was convicted.”

A look of realization crosses Troy’s features. “Milne thought it was me in the kitchen… How do we stop him?”

“By finding out who really killed those three girls.”

Cassandra places her hand on Milne’s chest…

***

Martin smiles at the passing students as he heads for his office.

“Mister Milne!” a spritely voice calls out.

He turns to see Grace Goodnight, Mia Morgenthau, and Shelley Slocumb huddled together, giggling at him.

Grace approaches him, handing him an envelope.

“We wanted to show you how much we appreciate you.”

Martin opens the envelope. The card on the inside reads: “Your Valentine’s bouquet would be forget-me-nots because I’ll always remember the lessons you taught me.”

“Grace signed the card, but it’s really from all of us,” Mia says.

“HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!” the girls exclaim, waving at Martin as he heads down the hall.

The three girls turn to face Boynton “Beany” Bishop, who gives them a wide, gap-toothed grin.

Beany comes from money and is intelligent, but socially awkward.

Grace surveys Beany’s ill-fitting clothes, disheveled hair, buck teeth, and hawkish nose.

Placing her hands on her hips, Grace tosses back her blond hair. “What are you looking at, dweeb?”

Mia and Shelley mimic Grace’s defiant stance.

Beany shuffles nervously. “I... got a new van... Would you like a ride to work later?”

The girls let out a cruel cacophony of laughter.

“I was going to give you a nasty look, but I see you already have one,” Grace says. “You know why we call you Beany? Because you won’t amount to a hill of beans. I wouldn’t be caught dead with you, even if you drove a Rolls-Royce!”

“He’s angling to take you to the dance next weekend, Grace,” Shelley says.

Mia chimes in with, “Beauty and the beast!”

“…I guess you don’t want the Valentine’s card I got you…”

The girls laugh so hard that the other students in the hallway stop to take notice.

Grace points at Beany. “Call the Comedy Channel! Frightful wants to take me to the dance!”

The crowd of students breaks into laughter, taunting Beany.

Cringing as he walks away, Beany mutters, “I was only trying to be nice. You…You should try it sometime…”

***

Martin stares down Rollo Lloyd, looking away when the leather-clad punk sneers at him.

“The principal wants to call the police. Honestly, what’s the thrill in beating up a kid half your size and stealing his money?”

The slick-haired teen gives him an oily grin. “One, it’s fun. Two, I need beer money. I’m what you call discouragable.”

“You mean incorrigible...”

“Listen, Rollo. We all know that life’s been hard on you since your parents died in that car accident and you’ve been living in foster care.”

“It’s more like ‘couldn't care less.’”

“You have to stop taking out your frustrations on the other kids. And by the way, leave Grace Goodnight alone.”

“A bunch of kids were out partying by the quarry. I crashed the party. All I did was try to kiss her.”

“Well, she wants you to stop trying,” Martin replies.

Their conversation is interrupted by a series of gentle taps on the door.

“Beany… I mean Boynton… I’m kind of busy now…”

“I told Grace I liked her. She… She rejected me…”

Rollo slaps his hands against his thighs, snorting.

“I may be discouragable, Beany, but you’re pathetic!”

“Quiet, Rollo.”

Martin rises from behind his desk. Putting his arm around Beany’s shoulder, he escorts him out of the office.

Rollo looks around the room, sneering at Martin’s degrees and awards hanging on the wall.

He notices a Valentine’s Day card on Martin’s desk.

Picking it up, he reads the inscription and sees it’s signed by Grace.

Snarling, he tears it apart.

***

Shelly Slocumb tosses the trash into the restaurant’s compactor, then checks her phone. The diminutive redhead jumps when someone taps her on the shoulder.

“If you sneak up on me like that again, you’ll need to get fitted for a new set of teeth!”

“Ssh. I want to surprise Grace. I’ve got a Valentine for her.”

He reaches into his leather jacket, pulling out a butcher knife.

***

Mia Morgenthau jams a doorstop under the back door.

“Shelley? Where are you?”

Mia notices a trail of blood leading away from the trash bin.

“Oh my God! I bet it’s that crazy Rollo! I’ve got to call the police!”

“And spoil Valentine’s Day?” a voice whispers.

He grabs Mia from behind while covering her mouth.

The lithe brunette stamps on her assailant’s foot. She kicks him in the groin and runs away.

Growling, the assailant races after Mia, tackling her. Rolling her over, he laughs at her petrified expression.

“All I want is for Grace to like me!”

“You have a better chance of being named best-looking man on the planet.”

“It’s a shame those’ll be your last words.”

***

Grace locks the restaurant’s office door, jumping at the sight of an intruder.

“We’re closed, dweeb.”

“I’m not here for a burger. I’m here for my Valentine’s kiss.”

The dewy-eyed blonde laughs nervously.

“You’re depriving some village of its idiot if you think I’ll even touch you.”

“Don’t hate me. You’re the only thing I care for.”

“I don’t care enough about you to hate you.”

He charges at her. Grace backs away, slipping on the freshly mopped floor.

He pins her to the floor.

“Now, about that kiss…”

***

A loud thumping noise wakes Martin from his sleep. Putting on his robe, he ventures outside, surveying the yard.

He notices the trunk of his car is open.

“Why would somebody break into my trunk? I’ve got nothing in there.”

He looks inside, gasping at the sight of a blood-stained butcher knife.

Martin barely has time to panic before a bright light shines in his eyes.

“POLICE! PUT YOUR HANDS UP!”

***

Troy opens up the evidence bag.

“This is the knife that killed all three girls.”

He hands it to her.

Cassandra closes her eyes. Her body shakes and her heart pounds.

She drops the knife.

“I need to see a yearbook from 2010.”

***

A line of black F.B.I. SUVs cross the border, speeding toward the desolate mountain town of Oakshemokeshee, Kentucky.

Troy turns to Cassandra. “The van was found where you said it would be, at the bottom of a quarry. All three girls’ skeletons were inside. You’re sure…”

“I felt the girl’s pain when I saw that candid photo of Beany Bishop standing in front of his van. He’s your killer.”

“I heard he’d had a breakdown after the girls’ died. He’s been hiding in these mountains for fifteen years, living off disability.”

The SUVs surround a rusty, battered trailer.

“You’ve done your job. Let me do mine,” Troy says to Cassandra. “Stay in the car.”

The men cautiously approach Beany’s trailer.

“F.B.I!”

The door swings open. Beany appears, holding a Ruger rifle with a butcher knife in his belt.

“I’ve been waiting for you for fifteen years…”

Beany fires at the police officers. Their return fusillade of bullets sweeps Beany off the steps.

“Suicide by cop,” Troy concludes.

***

“A wrongful conviction turned Martin Milne into a killer,” Cassandra replies, watching as Beany’s body is wrapped up. “At least we cleared him of the girls’ murders. I wish there were some way of letting him know…”

Troy’s phone rings. He answers it, frowning.

“He knows. Martin Milne’s dead. He died a few minutes ago.”