When Saint Goes Marching In (26 page)

“What are you planning to do?” James asked.

“I want to find out where he works, what he has been doing there and track him. I want to follow him for a couple of weeks,” Saint expressed. “I did try to find out about any recent crimes like the ones in Missouri. I came up with nothing but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. Right now, he is just trying to get his bearings. Missouri got too hot and the hunting ground became skimpy. Serial killers don’t like to relocate, they like the comfort of repetition so this is out of the norm but he knew if he didn’t, he’d eventually get caught by the authorities there. He is working this strategically.”

James smiled at him. “Having you here is like having a forensic scientist, You make our job a lot easier by getting into the mind of these people. Well, you have my approval to move forward but please be careful for your own sake and for your wife and children.”

Saint winced at the mention of his family.

His reaction had James sit up and throw his pen on the desk. “Saint, don’t fuck with me. Before you leave this office and step one toe on that plane, you tell me what the hell is going on with you. I’ve been watching you the past week pretending to be overly happy, I know it’s fake. What’s going on at home?” James asked. “Are you and Xenia working it out?”

“Nope,” Saint answered flippantly, avoiding James’ gaze. “I had a plan in place but she dropped a bomb on me that forced it right out the door. I need to be able to actually see her, spend time with her, for it all to have a chance of working but I couldn’t let her keep using me. It defeated the purpose. She is filing for divorce, James. I’m fine, really. I’m just focusing on my seeds and my career at this point.”

He needed to have her permission to let him use his powers to move about inside her spirit. If she wouldn’t let him near her, except for sex, and closed her heart to him, there was no way he could fix this. If she’d just given him a chance, let him in for a while and given him a little of her time, things could have been different.

James sighed heavily and closed his eyes. “I hate to sound like an asshole, Saint, but do you realize what this will do to your reputation? If your own Queen is leaving you, you will lose credibility. You are the only one in our history who has gotten a divorce. None of us, all fifty plus of us, have ever even had a legal separation, let alone a divorce. Of course, we’ve all had marital issues, that’s to be expected from time to time, but I know you don’t want a divorce. Yet, you’re just letting her do it! You don’t seem to care at all. Look at you! You’re sitting there like we are talking about the weather or a golf game.”

“Because I can’t afford to care anymore. People can think what they want to about me and my private life. It’s just that, my private life. It doesn’t negate the fact that I still feel the same way I always did and that my strategies work.” Saint stood up.

“Not for you they don’t!” James yelled. “That’s the whole point.”

“It’s my private life, my business. You say your health is stable now and I don’t want you getting upset.”

“Can’t you see that what you’re doing makes me upset? Your reputation aside, I don’ t want to see you and Xenia do this to each other.” James’ face looked flushed.

“Please calm down. I’m not doing
anything
to her. She made her choice. I’m not begging her anymore and she never even gave me a chance to do…it doesn’t even matter. I already made a fool of myself early on with her regarding this and I’ll never stoop to such a low again. The shit was embarrassing and unsexy. I did it because I loved her but it still didn’t matter. She just walked on me harder. I couldn’t let her do it anymore. Like I said, I had something planned but I needed time to orchestrate it but she wants out. I’m done now, it’s over. I can’t make her fuckin’ love me, James.” Saint felt a noose tighten around his heart as his wounds bled fresh. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a serial killer to catch.”

Saint abruptly left James’ office, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

“So Stanley has been working there for only a week?” Saint asked as he sat in the rental car, jotting down notes into a notebook. “I see. OK, we’ll we just need to check his references. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Saint ended the call and started the car up from his hotel’s parking lot to drive to Stanley’s new address. He had watched Stanley move from two different motels in the last seven days. When he got to the latest rundown motel, he parked and looked around.

“You’re livin’ it up, huh?” Saint said aloud as he stared at the dilapidated siding, dirty windows and the maid who rolled a large plastic gray bin, that carried an assortment of cheap soap and overly washed off-white towels, down the walkway.

He noticed Stan’s car parked nearby. Parking a few cars away, he leaned his seat back and waited patiently. He turned on his radio and returned emails for the next two hours until Stanley’s light brown motel door finally opened. Saint quickly threw down his notebook and phone onto the passenger’s seat.

Stanley
ran his fingers through his disheveled hair and pulled at his overly-large jeans. His tucked his shirt in as he made his way into the parking lot. Saint watched him light a cigarette, and lean on his car while puffs of nicotine exhaled from his mouth. After a few minutes, he extinguished the cigarette butt with his work boot, got into his car and drove away. Saint waited until Stanley had traveled a good distance before getting on his tail.

OK, come on now. I’ve been here an entire damn week and you’ve done absolutely nothing. I know it’s you, Stanley. You’ve been itching to do it again, you dream about it almost every night. Who have you been scoping out? Come on, show me.

Saint kept a safe but steady distance. Thirty minutes later, Stanley arrived at an army recruiting hub. Saint watched as he quickly got out of his car and entered the facility.

Well, this is strange. We know you don’t want to join the army, Stanley. You probably wouldn’t pass the testing anyway. What are you up to?

Saint parked his car and got out. He walked as close to the open storefront as he could without being seen, and scoped the area. Stanley sat inside, talking to a sergeant. Saint observed their faces and gestures.

He’s pretending to be interested. He is interested in this man, not in the position. Why do you want to talk to this sergeant, Stanley?

Saint waited a few minutes to see what else he could pick up to no avail. Frustrated, he walked back to his car and watched the building like a hawk.

After about twenty minutes, Stanley emerged from the building and went to his car. Saint started his car but then noticed Stanley drive next door to the local Burger King and go inside. He was getting breakfast. Saint looked back over at the recruiting office, turned his car off and swiftly made his way to it. He opened the door slowly and the little bell alerted the officer of his arrival.

“Good morning, sir! How can I help you today?” the man eagerly asked.

“Hi.” Saint plastered an artificial grin and immediately felt Stanley’s residual energy. It was thick, smothering and hungry for blood. “I wanted to just find out a bit of information.”

“Please, have a seat,” the man offered. “I’m Sergeant Kane, but if you’d like, you can call me Mike.”

Saint shook his hand and sat down where Stanley had sat.

Hot!

He immediately sat back up.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got some back pain today. Do you mind if I just stand?” Saint asked, feeling as though he had been literally lit on fire. He worked through the pain as it cooled.
Burning soul residue,
he thought to himself.

“Sure, no problem,” Officer Kane said.

“My younger brother was interested in joining the army and I just wanted to get some information for him,” Saint lied as he surreptitiously scanned the decorated office. “So what are the requirements?”

He half listened to Officer Kane explain everything, most of which was information Saint already knew, and nodded occasionally, feigning ignorance.

“Well, your brother would need to be at least seventeen but not older than forty-two. I doubt you’d have a younger brother that age though, you look to be only about thirty, thirty-two, max,” the man rambled on.

Saint gave him a weak smile. “Thank you, I’m actually forty-three.”

“You’re kidding me! Not to change the topic, but you must have a heck of a diet and exercise routine. If your younger brother has the same lucky genes, he’ll surely pass our physical tests.”

Saint shrugged. “I try to eat healthy and most times I do, but I do eat junk food every now and again. I do work out pretty regularly though. I enjoy it, so it actually doesn’t feel like a chore to me.”

 Soon, a wedding photo on the man’s desk caught Saint’s eye. “Wow, is that your wife?” Saint asked, looking down at a photo of Mike and a gorgeous, curvaceous milk chocolate honey with long, curly black hair. Sergeant Kane smiled happily. “Yes, she is! We just got married three months ago. Love her to death.”

“She’s very pretty,” Saint complimented.

The man puffed up with pride. “Thank you. She makes life so much brighter.”

Saint looked into his face, briefly remembering that sort of exuberance you first feel when you find and marry your soul mate. He once was in Sergeant Kane’s shoes, feeling it couldn’t possibly get any better. He remembered times when Xenia would lie across his chest, fast asleep, spent in his arms after they’d made love on a Saturday morning. After that, the boys would be up for their breakfast, anticipating a day full of fun and adventure. Saint pushed the thoughts out of his mind and refocused.

OK, Stanley. Now I see what you’re up to. You want to kill this man and his wife. You’re very interested in torturing her and stealing a little booty, too. You got so hot and bothered while looking at her photo, you had to excuse yourself and get something to eat. I doubt that a Burger King breakfast will satisfy the type of hunger you have, though. You’ve been looking at photos of them online for days, lingering on his wife’s social media wall and getting your rocks off.”

The man had a lot of nerve going against a police officer. He knew this, so he was trying to be cautious, to build trust first.

“So, anyway,” Kane continued. “You have to have at least a high school diploma or GED. Your brother would need to take a physical. There are height and weight requirements but we got a bit more lenient about that as of late. What we do now is that if the candidate is only five pounds or less over the required amount, we will go ahead and sign them up if they pass everything else, with the understanding that the weight must be lost at their next weigh-in and that is typically one to two weeks after the fact.”

Saint nodded as he looked back down at the wedding photo. “OK, do you have a brochure I can take with me?” he asked.

“Of course, I was going to offer you one.” Kane handed the leaflet to Saint.

“Thank you. I’ll let my brother see this information. You’ve been a great help.”

Saint shook Sergeant Kane’s hand again. Once their fingers touched, he immediately felt the warmth of the man’s character.

He’s a good man
, Saint noted as he left. He walked to his car and waited for Stanley to exit Burger King. Ten minutes later, the man came out gripping a large soda. He got into his car and drove off. Saint followed him, once again keeping a safe distance.

His stomach roiled with disgust as he watched Stanley pull into a hardware store. Saint got out of his car when Stanley entered the large establishment. Saint grabbed a cart, placed a ball cap over his head and threw a few items inside the cart as he kept a close eye on Stanley. Stanley surveyed various brands of duct tape and finally decided on a brand of reliable, standard, silver duct tape. He then picked up a gasoline container, thick, long cable chords, rope and string. He happily went down the aisles, his exhilaration quite evident from the huge grin on his small, round face and his glossy, eerily light, bluish-green eyes. He selected a small hunting knife from the fishing equipment area, a box of trash bags, a roll of foam and at last, and a lighter during check-out to complete his murdering arsenal.