Relatively Rainey (6 page)

The bedroom door splintered, but the dresser and chest of drawers she managed to topple in front of it held fast, for the moment.

“Oh my god. He’s going to get in here.”

“Who ma’am? I have your address and a patrol car just down the street coming your way. Tell me who is trying to hurt you.”

“My husband, Aaron Engel. Tell them he’s armed. He’s ex-FBI. He runs a security company. He’s drunk, and he will not go down without a fi— Oh my god,” she screamed, as he moved the makeshift barrier a few inches with the superhuman strength of a raging drunk. “He’s crazy. My kids are in here with me.”

“Stay calm. They are almost there. Stay with me. What’s your name?”

“Amy, Amy Engel.”

He hit the door again, roaring her name, “Aaaammmmyyyyy!”

“He’s going to kill me this time. Please don’t let him hurt my kids.”

“How many children and are they with you?”

“Two and they are here with me.”

Amy turned to see her two young children wild-eyed and terrified. Too frightened to cry anymore, they made not a sound. The phone nearly slipped from her hand, as blood from the gash above her ear oozed out of her hair. She listened to a supervisor in the background, calling out to the responding patrol car.

“Unit 27, be advised, the suspect male is ex-federal law enforcement, armed, and intoxicated. Proceed with caution. Unit 42, Unit 53, assist Unit 27, domestic assault in progress. Wife and two children in the house. Suspect armed.”

“Where are you in the house, Amy?”

“We’re in the master suite, upstairs, in the bathroom. He’s at the top of the stairs on the landing.”

Crraack! The door splintered again, leaving a gap. He pressed his enraged face into the void. Amy closed the bathroom door and locked it.

“Oh dear God, hurry up,” she whispered into the phone.

“Amy,” he called, his voice flat with anger. “Hang up the goddamn phone and come out here. You think you can take my kids, bitch. You have no idea who you are dealing with.”

“How old are the children, ma’am?”

The operator was back, asking questions of her. She didn’t answer but instead said, “Please God, don’t make me shoot this man in front of his kids.”

“Are you armed ma’am?”

“You bet your sweet ass, I’m armed,” Amy Engel replied. It was not weapon-holding false bravado, but an accurate assessment of the danger she was in. “I know exactly who I’m dealing with.”

The supervisor was obviously listening. She began calling to the patrol officers immediately. “Unit 27, be advised, the caller is also armed and located in the upstairs master suite bathroom with two children.”

Aaron stopped slamming into the door. Terror permeated the silence with a threat worse than him entering the room. Amy could hear the children whimper, as the fear of the unknown replaced their father’s pointed rage. All the moment lacked was a high-pitched violin note to heighten the tension, before the climax of the scene.

“10-4, 27. Suspect in custody.” Suddenly the supervisor’s voice was louder and directed at Amy. “Ma’am, officers are at your front door with your husband. I need you to put the weapon in a safe place away from the children and come out of the bathroom. An officer is waiting in the hall.”

“Oh, thank God. Thank you, thank you,” Amy gushed into the phone.

“You’re welcome, ma’am. Please assist the officer in securing your safety.”

The children cried softly, holding tight to each other. Relief freeing them to express the emotions no child should have to feel. Amy knew this was the last time she’d see her kids cower in fear in their own home.

The operator prodded her once more. “Ma’am, can you let the officer in the room?”

“Oh, yes, thank you for everything. Bye.”

Amy hung up the phone and opened a cabinet door too high for her eight and seven-year-olds to reach, but she warned them anyway.

“This isn’t staying here, but still, no touching.”

“Ma’am, this is Officer King with the Durham Police Department,” a female voice called out. “Would you mind moving some of that furniture so we can get you out of there. Your husband is in custody.”

Amy pushed the dresser over and out of the way with the added strength of the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Two of its wooden legs broke off, and the contents of drawers cascaded onto the floor. She didn’t care, because as of that moment Amy Engel didn’t live there anymore.

#

He’d been inside the target’s residence less than a minute, long enough to check the dryer by the back door for trophies, when he heard the sirens coming. He ran, leaving the back door open, too afraid he’d be seen if he stopped to close it. They were near. Screeching tires and the blue flashing lights reflected in the treetops drove him further into the darkness. He pushed through the darkness too fast and regrettably forgot about that little drainage ditch near the running trail.

His ankle gave way. He lay crumpled in a heap on the forest floor; sure men with flashlights and guns would be coming soon. He had quite a crime spree under his belt, but it would soon be over. He left enough DNA and behavioral evidence to be tied to multiple felonies, including capital murder. The Triangle Terror induced panic would come to an end, and women could sleep in peace once again. He was destined for the needle, or at best, dying an old man on death row while the public debated the humane way to put him down. An indulgence he found ironic since there was nothing humane about his murder victims’ last moments.

He had noticed the added law enforcement presence in his hunting grounds, part of the prevention measures employed by the task force formed to take down the Triangle Terror. It was an attempt to quell the public’s fears. It only made his game of cat and mouse with the cops more fun to play. Even with the additional patrol units, he had entered homes in search of trophies while the cops circled the neighborhood. His confidence grew with each outing. Enough so, tonight he brought his rape kit and planned to pay a visit to one of his girls. She must have heard him downstairs and called the cops.

He peered through the woods toward the sound of voices and the source of the blue flashing lights. That’s when he started to laugh, not loud, but a low chuckle from his chest. The police were two doors down from his girl’s house. They had not been coming for him. The chuckle ceased when the lost opportunity to take his victim with the cops right outside crossed his mind.

“That would have been mind blowing,” he whispered.

He pulled himself up slowly, using a tree for balance. He tentatively put weight on his ankle. The pain was almost unbearable, but bear it he must. Although the cops might not have initially been looking for him, it seemed his entrance to his girl’s house had been discovered. Flashlights bobbed in the distance, coming toward the woods. He turned, took a deep breath, and disappeared into the night, hobbled but not defeated, at least not yet.

As he ran, he took the pain, burying it beneath the new fantasy he’d been working on. The planning and prep-work were half the fun. He was ready for the next step and only continued the burglaries to stay his boredom while he waited for the perfect opportunity to put his preparation to good use. Tonight’s planned rape was just foreplay for his ultimate desire. He wanted to spend more time with his next girl. He had a couple of candidates already picked out. He knew the one he wanted, but he’d have to break the golden rule. His girls could never be someone he knew in his other life, the one where he was the loving husband and consummate professional. But when he closed his eyes, forming his ultimate fantasies, it was her face he saw.

She would be his end, he knew, still he limped through the darkness while the fantasy of her bound at his feet pushed back the pain and kept him moving.

#

8:00 AM, Friday, February 6, 2015

Sarah Harris’s Second Chance House

Battered Women’s Center

Big Woods Road, Chatham County, NC

“What’s your badge number? What’s your name,” the man growled.

“Officer Wendy King, sir. We met before, Mr. Engel, at your home, the night you broke a wine bottle over your wife’s head.”

“Oh, you’re that bitch,” Engel snarled.

Officer King’s patrol car was parked at an angle, blocking the entrance to the women’s center. She had volunteered to bring a witness to court in Durham, one seeking a protective order against none other than Mr. Aaron Engel. Several security officers stood on the other side of the gate, further preventing the infuriated man access to his wife and children, which was why he was in a screaming rage in the middle of the road.

Buying time for backup from the Chatham County Sheriff’s department because she was out of her jurisdiction, the young officer stood her ground and kept him talking.

“I guess you don’t remember much from that night, do you, Mr. Engel? You were pretty drunk and worked up. I seem to have found you in that state again today, but I don’t smell alcohol. I’m afraid that ‘I was drunk, forgive me defense’ is going to look kind of lame now. It appears you can be a raging ass without substance abuse.”

“Do you have any idea who I am? I’ll crush you. You won’t be able to sleep at night. I can make you disappear without a trace.”

“Threats to an officer, wow, you really do want to go to prison. You were FBI. How can you not know that you are digging yourself into a deeper and deeper hole?”

“I want to talk to my wife. I want my kids out of this lesbo camp, you fucking dyke.”

Officer King smiled. “No, that would be my sister. I’m the straight girl in the family photos, but they treat me just like everyone else. I think that’s very nice of them, celebrating diversity like that.”

“My kids are not going to be subject to this lifestyle.”

“What lifestyle would that be? Are you referring to my sister and her beautiful wife and kids? They love each other, and their children are healthy and happy. I don’t know if I’d call that a lifestyle though. I’d probably just say that's the way it should be. A home that focuses on love without fear and violence, where no one is worried about what will set Dad off in a rage.”

Aaron Engel took two steps forward, ready to pummel Wendy King. Her hand slipped to her weapon.

It didn’t deter his rage. “I’m going to take that pistol from you and teach you some goddam respect, you smart mouthed bitc—”

The derogatory term he was about to use caught in his cheeks when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t do that mister,” a booming bass voice said.

Aaron took one look over his shoulder at the mountain of a man and deflated.

Officer King smiled. “Mr. Engel, I’d like to introduce you to my friend Mackie.”

“Hands on the car,” Mackie instructed.

Aaron Engel complied. He was still angry, but evidently not in the mood for an ass whippin’.

“Looks like you’re only aggressive toward women, Aaron. That’s the second time I’ve seen your raging bull act come to an abrupt halt when a bigger man stepped in to take the upper-hand.”

Miles McKinney, Rainey Bell’s business partner and the guardian angel to those she loved—six feet six inches of solid muscle since his heart attack and newfound love of the gym—handcuffed his prisoner.

“Lil’ sis, the man is in custody. No need to rub his face in it.”

“He’s a jackass and an abusive one at that,” Wendy said, bolstered by youthful arrogance.

“I knew a girl like you once,” Mackie replied while putting the handcuffed man in the backseat of Wendy’s patrol car. “She paid an awful price to gain some humility. You might learn from that experience without it costing you as well.”

“I just want to talk to my wife,” Aaron called out from inside the car. “If she hadn’t brought her here,” referring to Officer King, “she would have been home by now. She brainwashed her against me. I know they text all the time. I can see her phone activity. I know that bitch right there is unduly influencing Amy. I have to get her out of here.”

“See, I told you he was a prick. Who spies on a spouse like that? Your wife is lucky she is rid of you.”

Aaron made a show of coming out of the car before a large palm hit his forehead sending him backward onto the car seat. Mackie, who had been dealing with men like Engel much longer than his badge wearing young friend, leaned down and spoke softly to the fuming man.

“Mr. Engel, you’re going to be arrested. Be good and you’ll probably be out in twenty-four hours. Get a lawyer and listen to him. My best advice, throw yourself on the mercy of the court and get some help. But this behavior here, that’s going to cost you if you keep it up. It’s already cost you your career. Don’t let it cost you everything else.”

Mackie turned to Officer Wendy King with a sage piece of advice, “And you, don’t let your mouth write a check your ass can’t pay for.”

#

11:59 PM, Thursday, February 12, 2015

Colfax Park Drive, Chatham County, NC

He had to stay off his wrenched ankle for a week. He’d been bearing his full weight again for only a few days, but he could wait no longer. His wife was coming back Saturday morning for a Valentine’s visit. She would be home for a week this time. He needed a fix, and he needed it now. With his injury, he couldn’t chance an encounter with one of his girls, but Paige would be off to the school dance Friday night. Her parents would go to their usual date night dinner and a movie. Her room would be free, and he could spend a few hours working off some steam.

He was watching Paige’s house, fantasizing from the bushes of the time he would come to take her away. Until then, he came and went in her world without notice. However, he planned to leave a message this visit. It was time to let Paige know he was coming. He reached under his waistband, about to pleasure himself while he thought of her when he saw the silhouette against the side of the house two doors down. He removed his hand from his penis and began slowly moving toward the intruder in his territory.

Another predator was in his hunting grounds. A tall, well-built, young man peeped into the window of two adolescent female sisters. This was unacceptable. These were his streets, his girls. They were not to be used by some young developing pedophile with a hard-on. He thought about calling the police. Wouldn’t that be ironic? But, he’d hate to be caught up in the arrest. His cell phone number would show up on the emergency operator’s screen. How would he explain his presence? It would lead to his name on a report and linkage was everything. Stay off the radar, he decided.