Every Rose Has Its Thorn

By:

Luciana_Malfoy

Chapter 9- Black Rose

            Brad hurried to his assigned room. The door was closed, He tried the knob, it clicked. He swung the door open, went inside. It looked empty, no corpse, no blood, nothing. He went to the closet. Nothing in there either. Good. Well, I guess I lucked out, he thought. He walked out to find the others.

            Meanwhile, Johnny was at his door. He tried the knob, it wouldn’t budge. He kicked it open, looked inside and couldn’t believe his eyes. The smell was awful. But that wasn’t the worst of it. He stood in the doorway frozen. It was good he used to be an LA detective, the experience taught him to shut out the smell of a dead body and concentrate on the case. At least this one hadn’t been dead very long. It was still fresh. So the stink wasn’t as bad as a body that had begun to rot. He’d had the unfortunate experience of coming across those from time to time. Johnny blinked slowly. A woman was lying on the bed, on her back, eyes open, staring at some unknown horror. Her blouse had been ripped open, displaying a crude sight. It was what was one her chest that made Johnny’s heart skip a beat.

            Nick Harrelson was satisfied with his job. He was a practicing masochist, so he actually took pleasure in being ordered around by Caprice’s sadistic commands and remarks. He’d been an agent only a year and a half now, but he liked it already. He found it exciting. Like a grown up versions of cowboys and Indians or cops and robbers. You catch the bad guys and are congratulated by your fellow agents. Harrelson especially liked the idea of being on Daryl Caprice’s team. That man was flying to the top of the heap. Being promoted fast. The rumor was that he was going to be the next Assistant Director back at the Bureau. Nick thought being part of his team would give him friends in high places and recognition with the new boss. He would serve Caprice to the best of his abilities. And he would pray.

            Winslow was done reading within the hour. He set down the articles and looked at Caprice. He was playing with the pencil he held and seemed to be in a trance. Winslow’s voice didn’t seem to break it either.

“Has he been like that this whole forty-five minutes?” He asked Harrelson, who had been reading some of the reports up until now. He looked up and shook his head, profoundly.

“No, he’s looked around the room a few times, but hasn’t said a word.”

Winslow didn’t respond, he sat on the corner of the desk and pointed to the last article. “In that one, it says on January 1, 1996, Rebecca Ann Sterling, age nineteen at the time, was shot and arrested by her brother, a Brad Sterling, a cop, and his partner, when he arrived at his parents residence on an anonymous tip. He found them slain with a large knife and his sister still in the house. His partner, a Robert MacKenzie, was then trying to restrain Rebecca, when she pulled the knife on him. Apparently it had happened too fast for her brother to react, until it was too late. She had stabbed MacKenzie twice in the abdomen, he bled to death later in the ambulance. Her brother shot her in her left shoulder, causing her to drop her weapon at which point she was restrained and arrested. The rest is history, as they say,” Winslow swallowed, his mouth dry. Harrelson also looked a tad queasy. These cases were the worst kind. A family turned against each other and the only way out was violence.

Caprice put his pencil down and licked his thin lips. After clearing his throat briefly, he said,

“Well, that’s quite a story. You have anything to add to it Harrelson?” His deep voice cracked a bit.

Harrelson looked up, his spectacles slipping to the end of his pointy nose. Looking nervously from the reports to Caprice, trying to think of how to begin. Caprice had started to drum his fingers on the desk, no doubt displaying his utter restlessness. Nick glanced at Winslow, no help there. Back to Caprice, who was glaring at him. The drumming sound of his thick fingers echoing throughout the otherwise silent room.

“Well, sir, um, if you mean a suggestion, yes, I do.”

The drumming sound stopped. Then after a few moments of uneasy silence, Caprice said impatiently, “Well, spit it out, Harrelson.”

Austin sat and listened. Then Harrelson spoke, “I suggest we go back to the Bureau and have a listen to these tapes, sir.”

The agents waited to see if Caprice would agree. He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly before saying, “Fine.” He nodded as he said this to assure them. He scooted the chair back and stood. “Very well, gentlemen. There is nothing more for us here, let us go back to the hotel. We’ll head back to the Bureau tomorrow morning. I want to have another look at that file this afternoon.” He snatched up his trench coat with such delicacy that it seemed wrong for a man of his size and malevolent attitude. He put it on, pulling up the collar, while Winslow and Harrelson did the same. As he walked through the doorway, Caprice pointed a finger at the desk and said, “Bring that file, I want to know everything in there.”

Nick grabbed the file and followed Winslow out the door. The air was a bit chilly but it was also exhilarating after being in that hospital. Caprice walked toward the unmarked car, with the other two agents in step behind him. His assistants. The word partnership did not exist in Daryl Caprice’s vocabulary.

Rebecca was almost ready to ditch the Carlson house. Just one more thing. She ran through the house in search of a telephone book. She found an Orange County directory in the cupboard. She took it to the telephone and sat down on the leather sofa. She flipped to the listing of nightclubs. She found one located on Lemon Street in Fullerton, and if she remembered correctly that was only a hop, skip and a jump from Anaheim. She dialed the number, not knowing if they would be open this early, it was only around 11 o’clock in the morning. She was about to hang up when a woman answered. Rebecca asked for their hours and for directions from where she was in Costa Mesa. After writing them down she hung up. She grabbed the yellow pages and the white pages and threw them in the car, which was already packed with all the necessities. She needed to figure out a plan and get on the road, before the damn SWAT team found her. She had no idea if she was going to hit traffic on the freeway, but if she did she’d deal with it. She backed the car out of the driveway, noticing the sky as she looked back out the window. It was overcast, with grayish clouds hanging overhead, but it felt humid. She started for the freeway on-ramp. She was supposed to take the 55 Northbound toward Los Angeles and then jump onto the 5. When she was young she had never really spent much time in Costa Mesa, except for the occasional trip to the plaza, where she’d ride the carousel. She would just drive until she found it, it was too risky for her to ask for directions, I’ve already had two witnesses, for Christ’s sake, she thought. She couldn’t allow any more. She had brought the lady’s purse with her, for the makeup. She was also wearing her sunglasses and carrying her wallet. Not that she needed the license, she looked nothing like the woman. Yeah, it would be a big help in an emergency, wouldn’t it? What would she tell a cop before she’d have to kill him? Uh, sorry officer. I know that doesn’t look like me, but it is. You see, I had plastic surgery on my whole face, and can you believe it? I forgot to have my new picture taken. But it is me, honest. Now go to hell, copper. Nope, it wouldn’t work. She would just have to be extra careful not to get pulled over, that’s all. Inside the wallet was eighty dollars in cash. That would hold her for a day or two. But she had made sure she wouldn’t run out. Back at the house she had raided the woman’s jewelry box. She took some gold chains , a ruby ring, a gold watch and a diamond and sapphire bracelet. That should fetch handsomely on the street. She couldn’t pawn it because she didn’t have any identification, and the lady would probably just report it stolen as soon as she arrived home which should be soon. Somebody has probably found her in that bathroom by now. As she drove, she tried t figure out what this woman did for a living to have such expensive stuff. Maybe she worked in real estate or the medical field. Or maybe she was a fuckin lawyer, she thought as she reached the 55 freeway.

            On the way back to the hotel, Harrelson drove. Keeping the speed under 40 mph, even though there were not that many cars on the road. He’s just as bad as Winslow, Caprice thought. It took them five minutes to get from the hospital to the hotel. Harrelson parked and they got out.

“Have you got any recent photos of Rebecca Sterling?” Caprice asked as he shut the car door.

“They’re in the folder,” Harrelson answered.

“Good, let me have it,” Caprice held out his hand.

Winslow got out of the car and handed it to him. Caprice glanced at it, then turned and headed in the direction of his room, fumbling in his coat pocket for the key. He called from halfway up the stairs, “I want you two out here and ready to leave at three o’clock sharp. That gives you four hours roughly, go and do whatever it is that you do. Have fun.”

“Great,” Winslow mumbled.

“I’m having loads of fun already,” Harrelson joked as he walked to his room, which was downstairs, to freshen up.

Winslow turned and walked to his.

            Daryl Caprice reached the top of the stairs and walked three doors down. His room was 21A. The hotel, he noticed, was the Ritz, but it wasn’t exactly the pits either. Wondering what the inside looked like, he unlocked the door and switched on the light. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great. There was a table and chairs on the right, a TV/VCR was in front of the bed, a lounge chair was off in the far corner and the bathroom was straight ahead. He threw the folder on the table, intending to study it later. He removed his coat and placed it on the bed. He went into the bathroom, washed his hands, and turned on the television. Most of the news channels were broadcasting the escape, he switched to one of the cable channels. He found a horror movie from the eighties on and he left it. He realized he was thirsty and that he would just grow even more so while reading about Becky Sterling later. He decided to go get a coke, so he grabbed the ice bucket and walked out the door. As he made his way down the stairs, he looked out in the distance. He knew Sterling was no longer around here, but where she was he did not know. Yet. After getting his drink, he returned to his room to find screams coming from the television set. He turned down the volume, he had more important things to do right now. He poured some of the soda into a plastic cup, and watched as it overflowed. “Damn it.” He ran to get something to clean up the mess.

            After cleaning up the mess, Daryl sat down at the table. First he looked for a photograph. He found a rather small, black and white one. A mug shot, taken two years ago. Dated January 1, 1996. He still couldn’t believe the date. So, was that your New Year’s resolution, Rebecca? He thought. From the look of her picture, she was a tough looking individual. Pictures can say a thousand words. But, even after all that she has done, he still admired her for her dominating ways. She always gets what she wants, right? Well, so do I, my dear. So do I.He stared down his nose at the photo. And I want you. It’s only a matter of time. He set the picture aside and started leafing through the papers. He reread the murder report. They were dubbed The Black Rose Murders by the press. Then he turned his attention to the tapes. Two of them were marked Session # 5 and # 6. The third one was marked “Trial”. He wished he had a cassette player with him. He wanted the information on those tapes. He was growing more and more curious as to whom Rebecca Sterling was. He was leafing through the papers when he came across an object stuck in the middle, in a plastic bag. Inside, wilted and dead from age was a single black rose.

To be continued…………………………………………………………