David DeLee [DeLee - Whose Greater Good

WHOSE GREATER GOOD

A Dawson Vigilante Story

DAVID DELEE

COPYRIGHT

FATAL DESTINY

Published by Dark Road Publishing

Whose Greater Good Copyright 2012 by David DeLee

Excerpt from Fatal Destiny, Copyright 2011 by David DeLee

Cover art copyright 2014 by NAS CRETIVES/Shutterstock

Book and cover design copyright 2014 by Dark Road Publishing

Fatal Destiny is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities or resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is wholly coincidental.

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WHOSE GREATER GOOD

A SUDDEN WIND gust barreled off of Boston Harbor, carrying with it the smell of dead fish and diesel fuel. Kristine Seleski standing, staring out over the reflective black water, tugged her parka closed and hugged herself. It was late September, and already the air had turned bitterly cold and uncomfortably damp, a harbinger of the long, wretched winter to come.

Across the harbor, a plane took off from Logan Airport, and the roar of its engines filled the quiet night sky. It was nearly midnight. The two warehouses behind Kris were quiet nowdark, except for the amber glow of security lights illuminating their empty parking lots. The lights didnt reach where Kris stood waiting at the roads dead end, just a stones throw from the waters edge.

She took a deep breath and tried not to think about why she was there. Alone. In the dark.

Mrs. Seleski?

Kris gasped and jerked away from the voice right behind her. By doing so, she stepped off the pavement and her heel sank in the soft ground, throwing her off balance. The mans gloved hand lashed out, gripped her arm, kept her from falling. Once shed stabilized her footing, he let her go and moved back, establishing an appropriate distance from her.

How had he come up on her like that, without making a sound? The lapping water and the soft chorus of cicadas could hardly have been enough to mask his approach. Could they have?

He wore black jeans, a black hoodie and a Red Sox baseball cap that cast a shadow, concealing the upper half of his face. Kris put him at six foot and broad in the shoulders. He stood light on his feet, like a boxer.

I didnt mean to frighten you, he said. Im Dawson.

Kriss heart hammered in her chest. She found it difficult to speak. Mr. Dawson.

Just Dawson.

Oh, okay. So how do we do this? I meanhow do we start?

Tell me why you contacted me.

Kris shivered. Well. You were recommended to me. Ineed you to find someone.

Who?

Kris took in a ragged breath then she let it out. So it all came down to this. I want you to find the man who raped my daughter.

There. Shed said it. And the tears burst from her eyes, searing hot as they tracked down her face. Im sorry. She wiped away the tears with trembling fingers. I promised myself I wouldnt cry.

He didnt say anything. He simply waited. When she managed to regain her composure, he asked her to tell him what happened.

His words were direct, clipped, to the pointeven a little cold. But not his voice. She could never have explained it, but in his voice Kris heard empathy, felt a compassion the words themselves didnt convey. Though he offered her no platitudes, no physical comfort, Kris could tell he felt her pain. Somehow, she sensed he carried a similar pain of his own.

Six months ago, she said. Amy was at the library studying with her friend Trisha Rosentheyre both 15. Trishas mom came to pick them up, but Amy wanted to stay and finish the research paper they were working on. She called me and asked, and I said it was okay. I told her Id pick her up out front at nine oclock when the library closed. Kris fought back tears again. I was only ten minutes late. Just ten minutes.

When I got there, Amy wasnt outside. I called her cell, but she didnt pick up. I tried the library doors, but they were locked. I banged on them, desperate, yelling. Finally, a woman came to the door. She said Amy wasnt inside, that shed see her standing out front earlier, just a little before I got there. I called the police and then I started shouting, screaming for Amy to answer me.

Kris covered her face with her hands and cried. The way she had so often since that awful night.

The police arrived and organized a search. They found Amy a block away, in the parking structure behind the library. They wouldnt let me see heran active crime scene, they said. When they finally brought her out on the stretcher, Amy was unconscious. I watched them load her into the ambulance. Seeing her like that, I just lost it. It was like getting kicked in the stomach. I collapsed, right there in the street. How could I have let my little girl down like that?

What happened then?

Kris could hear the anger in his calmly spoken words, a fury underneath, barely contained. The police took me to the hospital where I met with a detective.

Which detective?

McGrath. He told me he was a detective sergeant.

He is.

You know him?

Yes. Go on.

Its all a blur. Amy had been beaten and raped, sodomized they told me. They talked about a rape kit, vaginal bleeding, possible internal injuries, contusions. It was all so devastating. When they finally let me see her, her face was bruised, and she had cuts, terrible scrapes on her arms and legs... Her voice trailed off. Amys just a little girl.

Did the police identify her assailant?

Yes, Kris said. Amy had given them a very good description. And just a few weeks after the attack, they asked Amy to come down to the police station where she picked a man out of a line-up. The police, Detective McGrath, he said they had DNA evidence from her rape kit, and they could match that to the suspect. He told us they had him. That it was over.

But something happened.

About a month ago, I got a call from the district attorneys office. The man who called said he was sorry, but the D.A. had decided to not move forward with the case. When I asked him what that meant, he said there were problems, and the D.A. didnt think they could secure a prosecution against Amys attacker. Those were his words, they couldnt secure a prosecution. Just like that, my daughters attacker, her rapist, was going to get off unpunished.

Did they tell you what the problems were? Dawsons voice was tight.

No. Just that it was over. There was nothing more they could do.

Did the man from the D.A.s office tell you his name?

Yes. Hawley. Ken Hawley.

I have what I need, Dawson said.

Her heart lifted with a sense of hope. Does that mean youll help me? Youll find Amys attacker?

Dawson nodded. Ill find him. But I have a question you need to answer. Since the D.A. wont bring charges, what do you want me to do with him when I find him?

Mr. Dawson, my daughter wont eat. She wont see her friends. She wont even leave the house. Shes stopped doing anything but stare blankly at the television and cry. Every night when she goes to sleep, she wakes up screaming from horrible nightmares.