Miscarriage Of Justice Page 10

  Truth be told, she’d known it all along, but had stubbornly refused to accept it, or even admit it to herself. With this latest development, the intent was perfectly plain and something she could no longer ignore. Ethan Rafferty’s pattern of behavior was that of a psychopath, with her as his focus of attention. She knew all too well how a psychopath’s object of affection ended up—dead!

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” she suddenly exclaimed, voicing the alarming thought she’d silently contemplated the last several minutes.

  But where would she go? A motel wouldn’t be much safer than her house. Although other people would be close by, they wouldn’t be in her room, which still left her vulnerable. That’s why she wanted, or needed, to get away. To leave while she was still able. Who knew if Ethan were already looming outside, biding his time, waiting to make his move?

  Most certainly, she didn’t want to be alone, not in the house, a motel, or anywhere. Regrettably, that didn’t leave many choices. Her parents were no longer living, she had no other family within a thousand miles, and knew no one in town she trusted enough to burden with her problems. That left only one possibility; Jessi, her former college roommate.

  “Maybe I could visit her for a few days,” Mariana said to herself. “But I’d have tell her what’s going on.” She grimaced at the thought. Not that Jessi would care necessarily, at least not enough to turn her in or do anything else about it, but it’d be better to not get anyone else involved.

  The ringing of the telephone interrupted her thoughts. Mariana jumped and then stared at the phone, frozen to her chair. She sat unable to move, imagining all sorts of scenarios, none of them good and each involving Ethan. Was he finally ready to make his move?

  The phone was still ringing and finally Mariana mustered the courage to lift the receiver. “Hello?” she said, trying to sound relaxed and confident.

  “Mariana?” came a familiar voice, a female voice.

  “Jessi!” Mariana whispered with obvious relief.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Mariana was quick to assert. Then, almost in the same breath, she admitted, “Well, sort of.”

  “You sound a little uptight, and worried. Are you okay?” Jessi was obviously concerned.

  “I’m fine,” Mariana said. “It’s just,” she hesitated, still leery about confessing her misdeeds, even to her best friend, and especially over the phone. “Could I come visit you?” she suddenly asked. “And maybe stay for a few days?”

  “Um, yeah I guess.” Jessi seemed surprised by the request. “I mean sure. You know you can come anytime. But are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Yeah,” Mariana said slowly. “I’ll tell you when I get there. What time do you get home from work?”

  “Usually, about four.”

  Glancing at her watch Mariana said, “All right. It’s almost one now, so I should make it by then.”

  Jessi lived in Kilroy, a small town, roughly one hundred miles from Cedar Springs. Like Mariana, she wasn’t married, and lived alone. It would make the perfect retreat.

  “Okay,” Jessi answered. “I’ll see you at four.”

  Mariana was ready to hang up when she remembered Jessi was the one who called. “What did you call for?”

  “Oh nothing,” Jessi replied. “I was on my lunch break, and I just wondered what you were up to, so I called.”

  After they’d said their goodbyes, Mariana yanked the telephone cord out of the wall. She wanted no sinister messages to greet her when she returned. Then she went to pack. Not sure how long she’d be away, the restless D.A. crammed her one small suitcase full. Throwing several pairs of shoes into an overnight bag, she grabbed her toothbrush, and a few other personal necessities, and loaded the whole mess into her car. Taking one last look around, she set the burglar alarm and locked the door.

  Pulling from the driveway, Mariana watched the house disappear in the rearview mirror. Ethan might have seen her leave, and might not have. She shrugged, “Let him come and do whatever he wants. I won’t be here.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ethan was ready. Ready for the mailing of the final package. The most crucial and essential package. This one contained no articles, no letter or pictures, no message of any kind. What it did have was something more disturbing, more sinister and evil than even the trumped up news of the woman’s death.

  This envelope, the culmination of his mailing extravaganza, was meant to instill a consummate fear in the woman who had caused him so much grief and misery. Using a single prop, an inoculate substance, he meant to utterly terrify the woman.

  Knowing the U.S. Postal Service took such things seriously, and relentlessly pursued those who used the Post Office to transport hazardous materials or materials perceived to be hazardous; he’d taken a week to tediously prepare a plasticized envelope. If he’d done it right, the rigged envelope would pass through the automated mail sorters undetected.

  Bemoaning the fact he wouldn’t be there to see Mariana’s face when she opened it, he grinned, if he listened real closely, he just might be able to hear her scream! Driving to Cedar Springs on Monday, a day earlier than his well-established two-day interval, he dropped the “letter” into the mailbox.

  With the last package mailed, it was now time for a break. A peaceful escape for Ethan, while for Mariana, his hiatus would foster a period of suspenseful angst. He planned to cut off everything for a while. No phone calls, no letters—nothing. It was all part of the psychological war game being perpetuated on the woman. Ethan hoped the sudden absence of communication or anything to do with him would serve to further drive her crazy, wondering when and where the next shoe would drop. He wanted her lying awake at night, dreading each new day. Then just when she was beginning to think the dreadful ordeal was over, and started feeling safe again, the nightmare would resume. Mind games. They were such fun!

  He’d originally intended to just stay home, not go anywhere, or do anything. But after overhearing the conversation of the two couples who’d talked up Vegas, he chose to alter his plans. Their comments had sparked an idea of making his own trip to the gambling city. A few days there would allow him time to unwind and enjoy life; to celebrate his freedom and enjoy life, far away from anything that could remind him of his past woes. He’d always dreamed of visiting the place, but never thought he’d be able to afford it. And, playing the role of husband and father, he’d never had the time anyway.

  The day after Mariana left for Jessi’s, Ethan caught a morning flight. Detached from his alter life as an illicit mercenary of justice; he relaxed, taking in the view of the top shows, and of course, gambling.

  The glamorous nightlife and the thrill of playing against the odds was exhilarating for a guy who had been locked away from all leisurely activities and entertainment for so long. The shows were good, but he soon discovered what really intrigued him was the gambling. Slots, Blackjack, Craps, he played them all and as the gambling life goes, he didn’t do too badly. After a week of near constant “gaming,” as the casinos referred to it, he was down only a few hundred bucks. No major windfalls had come swooping down on him, but he hadn’t lost much either.

  He played for hours, not winning, and not losing, riding an even keel, and like everyone else, waiting for that one big hit, the jackpot. A jackpot that never seemed to materialize. Then, like everyone else, when he was so tired he could barely hold his head up straight, and his credits had dwindled to nothing, he stumbled bleary-eyed, up to his room. And like everyone else, the next day, the cycle would repeat.

  Then, unlike everyone else, he figured out he was never going to win. Sure, the possibility did exist, but the odds were somewhere far out in the cosmos in the seductive world of chance and speculation. These astronomical odds, not in the player’s favor, combined with the design of the establishment, reduced the already slim chance to nearly nothing. A gambler may hit on a streak of luck—temporarily. But typically, every dime was put back into play. Reinvested was th
e favorite term. Ultimately, it was a futile effort in a hopeless battle. In the end, the house always won.

  Looking around, he could see abundant evidence of that striking fact. Glistening glitter and glitz surrounded him. Nothing but the best for Vegas, the finest luxury money could buy. And where did the casinos get the money for all the luxurious decor? The answer was obvious as he surveyed the thousands of people, old and young, both men and women, all busy pouring their hard-earned money into the collection bins cleverly disguised as slot machines and gaming tables. The flashy ritz and lights were all just a enchanting facade.

  Casinos routinely bent over backwards to accommodate not only their patrons’ needs, but every little whim and desire as well. The “customers” were constantly pampered and babied. And why? Simple. Money. Customers had it. The casino wanted it. And the house always wins.

  Ethan had been in Vegas for little more than a week when he decided the gambling life wasn’t meant for him after all. Besides, he was itching to get back to the singular purpose of his existence; tormenting a certain District Attorney. Less than three hours after coming to this stark realization, he boarded a plane for home, touching down in Fulton shortly after midnight. In another hour, he was back in his dark and dingy hotel room, far removed from the bright lights scene of Las Vegas.

  Although he’d decided that donating his money to the casinos wasn’t nearly as exciting as he’d always imagined, he couldn’t get away from the gambling bug. Sitting in front of his computer, he played one card game after another; Black Jack, Poker, Aces, and then he discovered the slots. More than fifty of them, already pre-installed on the computer! Playing until the sun appeared in the eastern sky, he ended up with the same result as in Vegas. The house always wins. At least on his computer it didn’t cost him any money.

  Ethan clicked on the “Deal Again” button after losing yet another round of poker. His mind wandered as he played the next hand, wishing another juror who had served on his trial would die. He frowned briefly at his own morbid thinking, then shrugged it off.

  The few things he’d done so far were working well, he thought. By now, Mariana was surely questioning her sanity but the death of another member of the jury would surely help drive the point home. Not that wished ill on anyone, but the jury had convicted him of a crime he hadn’t committed. He felt no qualms about fantasizing over their possible death. And guilty? Not in the least.

  Yet, while such a “tragedy,” could prove useful and worthwhile to his endeavor, he wasn’t about to kill one of them just to benefit from their untimely demise. Even a mercenary had his limitations; he wasn’t entirely unscrupulous. The jury may have been the ones who’d pronounced him guilty, but he knew who deserved the blame—Mariana Clark! The woman was solely responsible for his tenure in Gray Rock. The jury had merely unwittingly responded to her well-prepared arguments and assertive assumptions, as was their job. They were not aware that the case presented by the D.A. had been fabricated, with the evidence altered in order to form the basis of the trumped up charges. Thus, it was reasonable and understandable, that being misled by Miss Clark, they had rendered a guilty verdict.

  Though Ethan had not at all been happy with their decision, and still wasn’t for that matter, they had been victims of the D.A.’s lies, just as he had. Using the twelve of them as pawns, she had taken advantage of their inexperience and impressionable nature. Still, if one of them were to unexpectedly keel over, he wouldn’t waste time crying over it. Not when he stood to benefit so much from their passing.

  It wasn’t likely, he knew. He’d already been fortunate with Mr. Duncan’s early end, and to expect another stroke of luck in the same vein was akin to dumping rolls of quarters into a slot machine expecting to hit the jackpot. Ethan wasn’t so naïve, and definitely not inclined to sit around waiting on anything, especially for someone to die. It just wasn’t practical. A useless waste of time—like Vegas.

  Yet, the time he’d spent gambling hadn’t been a total loss. The experience had spawned a grand idea. Actually, just a revision of something he’d already had in mind. A slight modification. He’d need a little time for preparation, but time is one thing he had.

  The next morning, Ethan visited several costume shops and specialty stores. Two mannequins, that’s what he needed. Realistic, natural, and lifelike. His quest took him on a time-consuming excursion, lasting most of the morning. By eleven o’clock, he had what he wanted, two genuine dummies, a man, and a woman. Laying both in the back seat, he amused himself by talking to them as he drove around town, shopping for the rest of the items he would need. Once the gathering of supplies was complete, the only thing missing was the proper clothes for the mannequins. Taking a few minutes to make some measurements, Ethan walked through the doors of Williamson’s Clothiers. He had a specific wardrobe in mind for each of his newly acquired friends. The man would be attired in black dress pants, a white, long-sleeved shirt, and a black vest. Dark-colored stylish shoes rounded out the man’s formal garb. When Ethan was finished, the dummy would resemble a Vegas dealer. Then, just for a touch of class, he added a gold watch; fake of course, no need to get carried away.

  The female would play the part of a casino customer, a gambler. Though he knew he wanted to portray a certain aura, Ethan had never been very proficient when it came to picking out a woman’s clothes, or so his wife had claimed. Understandably, he was a little undecided when it came to exactly how his full figured heroine would be dressed.

  “Can I help you sir?” came a soft and sultry voice from behind.

  Startled, Ethan spun around to find a young attractive saleslady smiling sweetly at him. The pretty face, looking him in the eye made him slightly uncomfortable. Not because she was good looking necessarily, but the fact that he was buying clothes for a dummy. He quickly made a mental note to not mention that unenviable bit of information to her.

  “I guess so,” he said then, thinking he would rather have done this himself. To the woman he added, “I need to find something elegant for a, um, a woman friend of mine.”

  The young girl was still smiling. Not a phony salesman’s smile, but a warm and friendly grin, as if she sincerely wanted to help. “And what size is she?”

  Ethan had measured the mannequin not more than half an hour earlier, but instead of giving her what he’d written down, he used the opportunity to ogle and admire the lady in front of him a little closer. Staring for just a moment he said, “She’s a little shorter than me and built, well, like you.”

  He tried not to look at her any longer than what he thought he could get away with and then maintained eye contact. Not an easy task for a man who hadn’t seen any woman at all for fifteen years. And of the ones he’d seen since getting out of prison, none compared to the one standing in front of him now.

  Blushing slightly, and shyly averting her eyes, Lacy, as he noticed on her nametag, quickly went on with her banter. “Did you have a particular style in mind?”

  “Um, I don’t know,” he said. “Something nice. Something you would wear for a night out in say, Las Vegas.”

  “Planning a trip?” Lacy asked. Then, giving him a sly look, she said “Is this for a wedding maybe?”

  “No,” Ethan said, and then quickly added, “Well, yeah, sort of.” He cringed. Up to this point, he’d done pretty well pretending the clothes were for a girlfriend, but he’d blown it on her unexpected question. “What I mean is,” he tried to clarify, “It’s not my wedding.”

  Lacy nodded and abruptly began walking to the far side of the store. Ethan followed as she turned down an aisle and they continued talking. Suddenly, she stopped and looked at him with another question.

  “What color were you needing?”

  “Black,” he responded without hesitation. “Everyone looks good in black.”

  In minutes, Ethan was holding the perfect outfit. The ensemble couldn’t have been better, had he picked it out himself. A low-cut, black evening gown, matching shoes and nylons—it was just what he’d imagi
ned for his female “companion.”

  Ringing up the sale, Lacy again flashed him a sensuous smile, eyeing him demurely as she took his money. Handing him the receipt she said, “If things don’t work out between you and your friend, come back and see me. I could handle a guy who’s willing to buy clothes like that!”

  Laughing, Ethan said, “You never know,” and walked out the door.

  He now had everything that would be needed for the little surprise party he was throwing in Mariana’s honor. And with a lot of work to be done, Ethan drove straight home. Enthusiastically, he delved into the task. Mariana didn’t know it but her house was soon destined to become a casino, though the game would be closer to Russian Roulette than cards, and something more valuable than money was at stake.

  With a little effort, he managed to get the dummies into the back door of the hotel and up the elevator to his room. All without being spotted by the cantankerous hotel clerk. That wasn’t too difficult considering the guy rarely moved from his chair.

  For the next several days, Ethan worked at an unhurried but steady pace. Dressing the mannequins in their new costumes, he stood both of them in the corner of the tiny room. Opening a can of deep red paint, he decorated the body of the female with painstaking care. When his masterpiece was finished, a single red dot, bearing a remarkable resemblance to a bullet hole adorned the woman’s forehead. A trail of “blood” trickled down her face and on to the dress.

  Allowing the paint to dry, Ethan prepared a sizable piece of green felt, cutting an oval shape large enough to spread over a dining room table. A toy gun he’d bought needed some attention too. He spray-painted the entire pistol black, eliminating the annoying bright orange cap on the front of the barrel. He’d searched for a gun without it but couldn’t find one. Apparently, some new law or regulation had been passed during his absence requiring all toy guns be fitted with the so-called safety feature.