Once Bitten, Twice Dead Read online

  “This is beginning to sound like a good idea to me, Phil.”

  “You really think so?”

  Yes, that way you can evaluate both things: how you continue to feel about being a cop, and how you like going back to school. It’s been a while since you’ve been in school. When you were younger, how did you do with the books?”

  “I did pretty well, and I enjoyed it. I want new knowledge each day. That’s why I liked being a cop at the beginning because it was so different every day. But then I began to see that this difference could eventually get me killed and definitely get other people put in jail. A cop’s world is not very inspiring. And maybe that’s the word: inspiring. I’d like to be able to inspire someone, not handcuff them to a street pole.”

  “Phil, you’ve thought this out. Go for it.”

  “I think I will. Thanks for listening, Raven.”

  When Phil walked me to my door that night, he took me in his arms and gave me a long kiss goodnight. It was actually our first physical contact.

  “That was a surprise, Phil. I’d say it was kind of inspiring.”

  He laughed. “I feel do down-to-earth when I’m with you, Raven. I feel I could tackle this education thing. I used to live just for the day, the moment, but now I’m seeing things in terms of many years ahead. I hope I can do what I want.”

  I was just as glad that Phil didn’t say he saw me and him together in those years ahead. I was still taking it all very slowly, but definitely there was something between us, a spark, but like with David I knew that that spark could lead to fire that could destroy. I was still scared, but I wasn’t backing away from Phil.

  Before Phil left me that night he told me that Sophia had asked to go out to dinner with us so she could thank me for what I’d done for her.

  “She wouldn’t have to do that, Phil. I know she appreciates it.”

  “She said she wanted to thank you in person.”

  Two nights later Sophia, Phil and I were finishing our meal at the Outback Steak House. This was a real upgrade for Phil. Maybe this was the beginning of his campaign to pay more attention to his sister.

  I had indulged in the juicy pork chops, Sophia had the coconut shrimp, and Phil had devoured a thick half-pound steak. Together we also had demolished two plates of onion rings. I didn’t know if this all was a taste of Australia, but at this moment I felt very full “down under.”

  During the meal there had been mostly small talk about our first African-American President, and the quirky governor of Alaska who had given the other political party a boost.

  Sophia had said, “Talk about two people coming out of nowhere and dominating the TV screen.”

  “Two very different people,” I said.

  “I feel good about who eventually got elected,” Sophia said. That other party had given us eight years of disaster.”

  Phil who had been enjoying his beer, spoke up, “That Alaska gal—she really got noticed.”

  “Maybe for the wrong reason,” Sophia said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She didn’t seem to know very much but instead of sometimes admitting that, she tried to fake it. I didn’t like that.”

  That was a good sign, I thought to myself. Sophia liked honesty.

  Then Phil’s rather pretty sister turned to me: “I do owe you so much, Ms. Stolle, for getting me out of that group.”

  “Please call me Raven.”

  “All right. . .Raven. . .that’s a cool name, by the way. I like my own name—I’ve always thought it sounds sophisticated, but your name is just plain cool.”

  “Well thank you. I’m going to keep it then.”

  “I was going down a bad road, Raven. I would have ended up in jail—or worse.”

  “I’m glad you see that now,” I said.

  “I definitely do.”

  Phil cleared his throat. I recognized the sign. It seemed he was going to say something important, but he was nervous about it. “What do you think you want to do with your life, Sophia? You’re only twenty years old. You still have plenty of time to make something of yourself.”

  Sophia snuck a sideways glance at her brother. “I haven’t told you this yet, but maybe this is the right time for an announcement.”

  Phil raised his nearly empty beer glass. “I propose a toast to the toast of the town—Sophia Petrosky—may she long reign, or snow, or whatever.”

  “Phil, you’re drunk,” Sophia said. I’m trying to be serious.”

  Phil was on his fourth beer. I was driving us all home.

  Sophia’s words did seem to sober Phil up a bit. “O.K., go ahead and be serious. You’re not usually that way.”

  “I haven’t been, and I’ve realized I’ve been throwing my life away. I’m going to stop doing that.”

  “Hurrah, hurrah.” Phil was back to his jovial mood.

  “O.K., brother Phil, if through your beer haze you can hear this: “I want to become a cop.”

  Phil almost spilled the rest of his drink. “What!”

  “I thought that might surprise you. And it’s not because you’re one. I’ve never thought about imitating you, especially in being unable to hold my liquor. I want you to know this for sure—my decision has nothing to do with you being a cop.”

  It seemed to me that Phil had not mentioned to Sophia that he was thinking of not being a cop.

  “All right, dear sister, tell me why you want to put on that blue uniform.”

  “When I first joined that group of girls I thought it might be fun and exciting, but then when I saw how much damage Sellica could cause, I wanted to stop her. But I was powerless because it was just me, Sophia Petrosky. I had no leverage. Most ordinary citizens can’t stop bad things in the world because there is no force behind them. People like Sellica are like the bullies I used to see on the playground. To stop them, you have to show them a stronger force than they are. Maybe this sounds weird, but to be able to stop this bad stuff, I think I need a uniform, a badge, and a gun. All that will give me the power I need.”

  Phil was becoming a little more sober. “But Sophia you can’t just go around shooting people—that’s not what being a cop means.”

  “I know that. I hope that very rarely would I ever use that kind of deadly force. But to stop someone really bad, I think you need that kind of powerful retaliation, or at least the threat of it.”

  I thought about my fight with Sellica. If I hadn’t been able to combat her, I probably would have ended up dead. What Sophia was saying sounded kind of extreme, but practically speaking she wasn’t way off base. Force at times had to be met with a greater or equal force, or the weaker-side would just be run over.

  This night had brought me the knowledge that while Phil Petrosky might be leaving the force, his sister might be joining. It was an interesting revolving door that I wanted to continue to watch. I had connected to two volatile personalities, but unlike what I was beginning to experience with David Selby, I did not see any meanness sneaking into this mix. Phil and Sophia had not exhibited any nasty or prejudicial behavior of the kind that had driven me away from David. So far I was still on their train, enjoying the ride.

  CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

  ONE YEAR LATER

  My detective agency was now doing well, and I had adjusted to single life and living by myself. The relationship with Phil Petrosky had stayed stable, with us both being comfortable with each other but still maintaining a little distance. My new ad in the Yellow Pages that said, If you want the truth, I’m the sleuth, had brought increased business. My vision now was ever forward toward a bright horizon.

  However, something happened today that took me way back into my dark past.

  I was driving down Chestnut Street on my way to meet a potential client when suddenly an entire action scene unfolded before my eyes.

  I was behind a new bright red Pontiac Tempest, which seemed to be following too closely to the car in front of it. As we left the downtown proper and got more into a two lane highway, the red T
empest instead of passing the white van in front of it, quickly accelerated and slammed into the back of the van. It looked like the driver of the Tempest had done it on purpose.

  Was this some sort of weird vendetta? Was the guy in the Tempest drunk? But then suddenly a familiar piece of memory flashed back to me. That could have been me in that van—me and my dog—when I, too had been rammed, and Damn had eventually died.

  The van tried to speed up, but it was no use. In horror, I now watched the red car hit the rear of the van again, this time at full speed, sending the van careening to the side of the road and toward a large tree. To my relief, the driver of the van skillfully turned the car so only the side scraped the tree. The driver leaped out of the car and shook his fist at the now rapidly departing red car. I could see that the driver was not seriously injured, so I decided to go after that person in the Pontiac. That maniac should not be allowed to stay on the road.

  It took me awhile to catch up to that driver. We had passed through some smaller towns, though, where it seemed that I had gained an advantage by making it through green lights while that person had missed. I could now see the Pontiac two cars ahead. I had a bubble-light left over from my cop days that I kept on the floor in case I ever needed it for an emergency. I had never used it, but now to get that driver off the road seemed to be emergency enough for me. At the next stop light I reached back, grabbed the light and plopped it on the roof of my car.

  We had now reached a more open highway, but the person in the Pontiac had noticed the flashing light almost immediately and speeded up. My car was pretty powerful, but that red car also had plenty of zip, so it was quite a race until we came to a sharp curve.

  I started to slow down but the red car didn’t. The Pontiac began to swerve off the road, skidding right into an embankment and stopping the car dead.

  The driver of that car was frantically trying to restart the engine as I drove up. I leaped out of my car and yanked open the door of the Pontiac. I pointed my gun at the driver, but then my jaw dropped.

  The driver was David Selby.

  That’s right—my David Selby, the man I had lived with for two years, and who had eventually filed for divorce that became final six months ago. I had not shown up for any of the hearings, so this was the first time I had seen him since he had left my bed that early morning.

  “Raven!” He also was most surprised to see me.

  “What were you doing back there, David? You could have killed whoever was in that van.”

  Maybe it was my use of the word “killed,” but suddenly everything came together.

  Ed Butcher was a prosperous owner of a string of meat markets, Randall Procopius had spent his entire life accumulating much money through his stock market deals, and even Carla Strand had been most successful and rich through her movies and the fashion business. All three of them were wealthy, possibly some of the richest people in this area at one time or another.

  And now David’s attitude—the attitude that drove me away from him—hit me like a fist. David always scorning wealth, even my own inheritance. David always saying that the rich people looked down on the poorer people. David influenced by his grandfather’s words about rich people, on top of the humiliation by that wealthy man up the hill. I had been living with a murderer. How had I not known it? How had I been so blind?

  “So we meet again, Raven.”

  “We sure do, David, and I’m arresting your for three murders. I’ve finally solved my cases. Now get out of the car.” David slowly crawled from beneath his airbag. I read him his rights, and then had him face his car and lean against it while I frisked him. I took no pleasure in having captured him—I think I was still in shock.

  “Now turn around, David, and face me. What was that all about back there with that white van?”

  “That was Winston Farrell. The guy is scum, just like the rest of those rich bastards I’ve taken care of. He’s the CEO of Fidelity Insurance Company, and he’s a crook just like the others.”

  “What did he do?”

  “The mother of a friend of mine had come to me. She had just witnessed the death of her 23 year old son. He had needed a bone marrow transplant to save his life, and Farrell’s company rejected the claim. Her son died a month later. The doctor had said with the bone marrow transplant the son would have had a 90% chance of survival. All Farrell’s company thought about was money. He didn’t care that it was another person’s life he was ending. So I felt I had the right to end his life. I’m only sorry his car didn’t crash and burn. I’ll have to try again.”

  “I don’t think so, David. You’re going to jail.”

  “You always said you were for justice, Raven. So how come you don’t agree with what I’m doing?”

  “No matter how much you want to justify it, you have no right to take another person’s life.”

  “The State takes a person’s life when it executes them. That’s what I’m doing. I’m simply the judge, jury and executioner. Think of all the money I’m saving the commonwealth. David gave out with a suppressed chortle. All I’m doing is stopping bad people.”

  “And now I’m stopping you.”

  As I had listened to him, I hadn’t noticed that David had moved closer to me. With a deft slap of his wrist he sent my gun flying underneath my car. I had forgotten that I was dealing with a very experienced former cop. He then gave me two short chops to my stomach that took the wind completely out of me. Before I knew it, I was down on the ground and David was back into his car, ripping the airbag out of the way. Miraculously, the Pontiac started, and David sped past me before I could even get to my feet.

  I crawled under my car and retrieved the gun, but not my self-respect. I had just let a serial killer escape.

  At least now I knew who I was pursuing. When anyone joined the police force, they had to submit fingerprints and have a DNA swab taken. Thus, David Selby, the solution to all three of my cases had been on file in the records section all this time. I called Phil and told him what I had discovered, and asked him to run a check on David’s prints and DNA. Phil couldn’t believe what I was telling him, but he followed my instructions, and three days later he told me there was a match.

  I had solved the cases, but now I had to catch the killer. That was easier said than done. Apparently David had planned on leaving town after his most recent kill because when Phil and I checked his residence we found the place cleaned out.

  Where David had gone was anybody’s guess. But now I had a new goal: to track down David Selby, and this time actually arrest him for the crimes that I knew he had committed. I had a feeling there were other killings I didn’t know about.

  The chase was on.

  CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE

  I had no pending cases with my detective agency, so I could devote my full-time energy to the pursuit of David Selby. And, as it turned out I was going to need every last bit of that energy.

  On the other hand, Phil Petrosky was up to his delicate ears in his cases. “Chief Brown’s not going to let me off those—crime is up and our arrest record is down. You know how City Hall likes statistics. So you’ll have to go this one alone. But I will be with you every step of the way in spirit. I’ll be thinking of you every day.”

  “Thanks. If I can I’ll keep you posted on what’s happening.”

  “By the way, my sister just yesterday did apply for the police academy—she is going to go through with it.”

  “What about you and those education courses for being a teacher?

  “I sent the forms in this morning. I’ll start next semester. I think it’ll be an adventure.”

  “I’ll be thinking of you every day, also.”

  I started my tracking up at Scranton where David had spent his early growing up years to see if I could use some of his past habits to determine where he might go now that he was on the run. I was going back to his first roots.

  I first talked with Charles Hunter, the Selby’s next door neighbor. I didn’t tell him why I wanted to f
ind David. He freely told me all he could. “When we moved here David was about five, I think. The Selbys back then liked to go to the Shore. They went just about every summer. They had a place in Sea Isle City, but they sold that. Then they bought a place in the Florida Keys that they used as their summer home. I couldn’t believe it when I heard the terrible news of the robbery and murder of David’s parents. I never heard of them selling that summer house. You might look down there for David.”

  “What town was it in?”

  “Marathon. It’s about half-way to Key West. We visited them down there once when Marie was alive. I don’t remember the name of the street, but it was right before you got into the town stores. The airport is right across the road. There’s only one main highway unless you want to drive into the Atlantic Ocean or the Gulf of Mexico. You can’t miss the town. A real estate office down there would give you the exact address.”

  I thanked Charles for his help and then wandered around Scranton, trying to find anyone who knew David even slightly. Better than that, I found two people who had some consistent contact with him. One was Reggie Sampson who ran Sampson’s Foods, just off the main drag.

  “David worked for me summers when he would visit up here from Philly.”

  “What was that situation? Why didn’t David go to high school up here?”

  “David was always very independent. He didn’t like school up here. Maybe he thought we were all hicks. I remember him telling me how terrible his elementary school teachers had been. He had a friend who used to live up here but then moved to Philly and went to that High School, John Adams, I guess it was. I guess they had kept contact with each other, and he told David how great his school was. Maybe just to be with his friend, David switched his school into Philly and lived with his friend’s parents during that time.”

  “What was that friend’s name?”

  “That was Jerry Fallon. His parents had taken a job with the University of Pennsylvania there. That’s why they moved to Philly. They might still be there at the U. of P.”