Chapter 60

Six weeks had passed since Darrell had stood behind the podium and announced that the IPK killer had been found. In that time Darrell had said goodbye to Liam, closed out all of his other files and today he was finishing up the last details of his final case “William Deveraux, IPK Killer.”

What was supposed to be a successful ending was actually disturbing for Darrell. His gut wouldn’t let it go and it probably never would. In the publics eyes the killer had met justice by one of women he had captured and tortured and there was nothing more to be done.

Darrell sat at his desk for the last time. He opened the case file in front of him and added the last reports from the Medical Examiner’s office. Dr. Paul Aspinall had been more than frosty in his attitude toward Darrell in the first few weeks after the interview at the Doctor’s house; however, as of late the Doctor seemed to be back to his normal self which was a huge relief for Darrell. He didn’t want anyone to harbor any ill feelings toward him when he was retiring.

As Darrell read the report containing the autopsy of William Deveraux he remembered the way the man carried himself, the way he spoke and the way he seemed to be deeply connected to the community. Darrell shook his head, closed the report and shoved it into the already overfilled legal file. He closed the folder and shoved it on top of the other folders in the banker’s box that held some of the case notes and reports. Darrell placed the top on the box and then sealed the box with the red tape that the detectives all used to seal evidence. He initialed the sides of the box and then walked the last of the boxes over to the file room. Darrell sighed when he left the file room. That was it. His last case. Complete. In three hours he would be meeting with his coworkers and friends to “officially” retire. Twenty-five years Darrell had put in as a homicide detective, 35 as a cop. At 58 years old Darrell felt he was at least 80. This last case had taken a lot out of him. He had physically aged 10 years, mentally at least 20. When he sat at his desk, he took the leftover bankers box and started to empty his desk of personal effects. Drawer by drawer Darrell relived the past years. In the bottom back corner of his bottom desk drawer he came across the plastic nickel whistle his first survivor had given to him. Darrell smiled a sad smile thinking of the 6 year old named Samuel Hernandez. Darrell had told him that his mommy had died and that he was going to live with his Aunt and Uncle in New Orleans, away from all the bad people here. Samuel was a resilient boy with big brown eyes, he looked directly at Darrell and handed him the toy plastic whistle.

“My daddy gave this to me before he went to war, and before those bad men killed him. He said it would keep me safe. I want you to have it, so you can keep other kids like me safe.”

Darrell looked down at the whistle and felt a tear roll down his cheek. It hit the whistle in his hand and Darrell wanted to know what had happened to that brave little boy. As he wiped the wetness off the whistle and then his face, he placed the toy in the box of possessions. The only thing left was his name plate. He tucked that into the box and then got up and for the last time turned out his desk lamp. With his box, he headed toward the elevator.

In the elevator Darrell let his mind wander. He had decided that more than likely William made a mistake and that is what ended his life. A simple miscalculation. Nothing more, nothing less. As the elevator door opened he stopped his thinking and walked out of the small confined space. As Darrell walked to the front doors another detective walked by and shook Darrell’s hand and wished him the best in his retirement. There had been a steady stream of handshakes and well-wishers since the beginning of the week when his retirement had been announced. The final steps out of Police Plaza were more difficult than Darrell had imagined and on his way to his car he finally came to the realization that this was what he had wanted. The heaviness of leaving the familiar left him and a new feeling of freedom began. Darrell began to look into the future and with a small gleam in his eye his smile started. He closed his car door and started the car and with a small rev of the engine Darrell headed off on the next adventure in what he was hoping was his new life.

As Darrell drove with his new perspective and attitude, he came up to a red light. He stopped and then with a sudden sharp pain in his chest, he gasped and then fell forward. His foot hit the accelerator and his head hit the steering wheel. With nothing in his way for at least a half a block Darrell sped toward the nearest light standard. Already dead from a massive heart attack, nothing was left to be done but wait for the car to stop and someone to identify the man behind the wheel.

The local news that night glorified Darrell’s life and his successes throughout his career all ending with his capture of the IPK killer, William Deveraux.

******

John King turned off the television in the small town he was living in peacefully. The news had as a sub line the death of Darrell Darker, featured because he was the International Detective of the month for his successful closure of the IPK killer case. John was prompted to look up the detectives career and when he had read through all he could find he sat in his chair with a small look of satisfaction. Not only had he escaped from his brothers, he had escaped true justice and the detective that had tried and almost corralled him into an indefinite jail term. John was truly free and he was in the mood to celebrate. How was he going to celebrate that was his dilemma? A dilemma which where he was living only meant one thing. Alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.