Black Princess Mystery (36 page)

The older
man stood there without saying a word. Several seconds passed.

“Drop the
gun,” Thorston said in a measured voice, “or I’ll put a bullet in your back. I
swear.”

McNab
thought for a moment, his face frozen in shock, and then he slowly and
deliberately laid the gun on the counter. “Oh, isn’t this cozy. The college boy
and his whore take down a cop of distinction.” He lifted his hands to shoulder
height. “I came here because she is the killer, Thorston. I had her dead to
rights when you arrived. She admitted it.”

“Liar!”
Tasheka said, removing a small camera from beside the microwave. “You cooked
your own goose, Willy.”

In the
moment that Thorston looked at Tasheka, McNab sprung forward and knocked the
gun from his hand. Though the younger man was more agile, the element of
surprise had done the trick. They wrestled for a moment and McNab was just
about to gain control of his partner’s gun when he saw a knife flashing in
front of his face. The long, razor-sharp blade sliced through the air and was
soon held firmly only a few inches from his jugular. McNab stiffened and froze
like a statue.

“Down,
boy,” Tasheka said in a low, no-nonsense voice, her eyes unblinking. “One move
and I’ll bleed you like a goddamned pig.”

McNab let
go of Thorston’s gun and knelt on the floor, the Black Widow still dangerously
close to his flushed neck. He stared at it like a man looks at a coiled
rattlesnake.

Tasheka
turned to Thorston. “He’s the serial killer we’ve been looking for.”

“You can’t
be serious.”

She
gestured at the camera. “It’s all there.” Tasheka looked McNab in the eyes.
“Should I play it, Bill, or will you confess?”

“Don’t
play it,” McNab said, his eyes hollow and drawn. “I’ll confess.”

Thorston
was dumbfounded, but handcuffed McNab to a cast iron railing and then called
the police. Two cars were there in ten minutes. When he saw the flashing
lights, Thorston hurried to the door, opened it and walked out on the step.

“I would
have killed you,” McNab said softly, almost too embarrassed to look at Tasheka.
“The dopers, the rapist, even Murphy—I didn’t care about them. I don’t even
care about you. But the baby—no, the baby is different. I don’t want anyone to
know what I said.”

“I will
destroy the tape,” Tasheka said, “if you promise to admit everything.”

“Yes,” he
returned with conviction.

“You give
me your word?”

“Will you
take the word of a murderer?”

“I’ll take
the word of a great detective.”

“You have
my word,” he assured her.

Tasheka
put the camera in a drawer, secretly removed its battery, and then knelt in
front of Detective McNab. She kissed his feet and then rose, facing him.
“Please forgive me,” she whispered into his right ear with great emotion.

“Forgive
you for what?” he returned, her form lightly pressing against him.

“Please
forgive me,” she repeated with an almost delirious look in her eyes, as if
McNab’s forgiveness was the most important thing in the world. “Please.”

“I forgive
you,” he said.

Thorston
returned after Tasheka had stepped back and McNab immediately admitted his
guilt to the officers. The police were stunned, but McNab insisted it was true
and told them to take his keys and check the basement freezer. Calls were made
and McNab was led to a waiting police car and driven back to the city.

Thorston
sighed loudly. “I’ll have to take that camera to the station.”

“Do you
remember how we talked about murderers sometimes making mistakes?” Tasheka
said, taking the camera out of the drawer.

“Yes.”

“This was
one of those times. McNab was a genius for covering all the bases, but even he
made a mistake.” She opened the camera and showed him an empty battery case. “I
didn’t record a darned thing because this camera doesn’t even work.”

Thorston
was surprised. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. He already spilled his guts.”

They spoke
for a few more minutes and then Thorston, wildly agitated, left. After he
pulled out of the driveway, Tasheka took the camera upstairs and hid it in a concealed
compartment of her closet. An hour later Thorston called.

“He told
us everything,” Thorston said, “and we found the amputated body parts in the
freezer.” He cleared his throat. “Detective Bill McNab is the serial killer.”
He paused for several seconds. “No one would have believed that, Tasheka. I can
hardly believe it myself, and I was his partner.”

“And the
murder of Father Tim Murphy has been solved,” she reminded him.

“Oh, my
God, that’s right,” Thorston said with surprise.

“God had
nothing to do with this,” Tasheka said, “only a man who thought he was God.”

Epilogue

The next
day Thorston drove to Lakeside and into Tasheka’s driveway. Mrs. Green waved to
him and then gestured for him to come inside.

“McNab has
made a full disclosure,” he told Mrs. Green, “and he has been sent to a
psychiatric hospital for observation. The television stations and papers are
all over it.”

“He’s a
very sick man,” said Mrs. Green.

“The mind
is a fragile thing,” Thorston noted. “How many times have people with solid,
spotless reputations been found to have skeletons in their closets? It boggles
the mind. He came to the police station every day, worked hard, was trusted and
admired, and yet he was a multiple murderer. I never had a clue. No one did,
except you, Tasheka.”

Mrs. Green
beamed when Thorston praised her daughter.

“We did it
together, pardner,” Tasheka said cutely.

“Why don’t
you two go for a walk?” Mrs. Green suggested.

“Coming,
Momma?” Tasheka asked.

“No, you
two go ahead. I’m baking my bread. It’ll be ready when you get back.”

Hooking
the leash to Kie, Tasheka and Thorston walked out the driveway and up the
Lakeside Road. They passed the church where Father Patrick was speaking with
William Murphy on the step. Tasheka and Thorston waved and the two men waved
back. They then proceeded to the Lakeside Garage where an impromptu group had
gathered. A joyous atmosphere pervaded, as if a tremendous, crushing weight had
been lifted from their collective shoulders. Marissa Vendor was holding her
brother’s arm and leaning against him like a child who needs to be protected.
Mike Power, usually staid, was chattering with great animation to Jake and
Linda Thompson. Matt gestured for Tasheka and Thorston to join them. Thorston
was a little reserved, but Tasheka pulled him along, smiling brightly. They
entered the loose group and exchanged greetings, glad to see everyone feeling
so uplifted.

“Got to
head out on the road again today,” said Baxter Gable, putting his arm around
Henrietta. “Gonna miss you, baby.” He kissed her. “Never gets any easier.”

“I know,
sweetie,” she said, kissing him back. Henrietta turned to Matt. “My radiator’s
leaking, Matt. Think there’s anything you can do with it?”

“Bring
your car in tomorrow,” he said, “and I’ll see what we can figure out.”

Tasheka
spoke to the others for a short while longer, wrapped her fingers around
Thorston’s biceps, and began to leave. “Happy New Year, everyone!” she
exclaimed.

They all
wished her the same and nodded at Thorston in a friendly way. The two of them
continued walking up the road.

“What now,
cowboy?” Tasheka asked with a sweet smile.

“I had no
idea you were pregnant,” Thorston said, swallowing hard.

“I am
pregnant and I’m keeping my child. No one or nothing will make me give up my
baby. If you can’t accept that, or if it’s even a sore point with you, we have
to say good bye.”

“Did you
love him?”

“Yes, in
an odd kind of way I did.” Her eyes became glazed, almost as if she was
daydreaming. “My middle name is Maria, and he used to call me ‘TMG.’ His middle
name was Gerald, and I used to call him ‘TGM.’ It would always make us laugh.”
Suddenly she grew extremely serious, almost brooding. “I loved Father Tim, and
I hated Father Tim. But the truth is that we didn’t respect each other. It was
more like a competition, to see who would quit first. I never saw him as a
boyfriend, and even if he had left the priesthood, I never would have married
him. We used each other as a diversion from life. We didn’t want to share our
lives.”

“Do you
see me only as a diversion?” Thorston asked.

“No,”
Tasheka said calmly. “I see you quite differently.”

“I want
you in my life,” Thorston said emotionally, “and I would like to be in your
baby’s life, too.”

“I’d like
that. I’d like that a lot.”

“It looks
so peaceful,” Thorston said, pausing to look at the golf course. Dead Man’s Oak
was clearly visible in the distance.

“It will
never be the same,” Tasheka replied, a sad look in her eyes. “They’ll still
hook balls into the lake and slice them into the trees. There will be a few
eagles here and a few birdies and bogeys there, but it will never be the same.
Golf is a beautiful sport, a sport where you can go outside and enjoy the fresh
air, listen to the birds in the trees, and watch fish jumping in the lake. It’s
a game you can play completely alone or with millions watching. The way I see
it, golf courses are almost like cathedrals worshiping nature. There are no
cars spewing exhaust into the air, no industrial parks with pavement and
concrete as far as the eye can see. Sometimes, in the morning, a mist comes off
the lake and bathes the course in a surreal, almost dreamlike haze. I’ve never
played golf, but I can understand the allure. For sheer beauty, no game in the
world can compare to it because golf has the grandest of all arenas. But the
Lakeside Golf Course will never be the same. His spirit will always be there,
and so will the spirit of hatred that ended his life.”

“That’s
why we have to counter it with love.”

“Yes,”
Tasheka said, “love is the key.” She touched his face with her fingertips.
“Love is the key, Thorston.”

*The End*

About the Author

Jim Power has been published internationally by 60
magazines and newspapers, including by the Smithsonian Institution, and by many
of the top outdoors magazines in North America. He has a long history of
publishing fiction, from dozens of short stories in New York magazines to seven
novels in 2013/2014. He studied Honors English at Saint Mary's University and
majored in Russian Literature at Dalhousie University before becoming a writer.
Jim was also once a dedicated hitch-hiker, hitch-hiking tens of thousands of miles
in his life, including trips across Canada and from Nova Scotia to New York
City, where he wormed his way into the Big Apple and played softball in Harlem
on a beautiful Sunday morning in autumn. Jim has a long history of playing
sports, including fastball, lacrosse and tennis, and he loves the outdoors.

Jim also writes steamy romances under the pen name of
Summer Newman. His novels, along with complete ordering information, can be
found at:

https://www.facebook.com/jimpowerbooks

Other
Books by Jim

The End of the Line, Sweet
Cravings Publishing

Secret Cravings Publishing

www.secretcravingspublishing.com