The Aftermath

23

It was easier than Detective John Roads imagined. In fact he didn't have to do anything. As soon as the blood on the walls of Tom Blake's house matched up with Beth Blake's blood, the case became a homicide scene. That little Mex-chick, Redman, tried to keep the case, but she was burglary, and never worked a homicide before. She wasn't ready either. Hell she just got promoted up from shaking her ass for the Vice squads. She was nowhere near homicide material and Roads doubted she ever would be. Was it human blood? Of course it was human blood! Silly bitch should have known that from the start. Did she think it was goat blood? Who the hell has a goat in this part of the city? Shit.

Roads didn't even know about the case at Tom Blake's house until he got the call from the chief who told him he was on it, working in partnership with Oceanside. This time officially. Let that little twerp Green try to kick him out of the room now! Fucking moron. Asshole probably still thinks Tom Blake had nothing to do with this. He probably buys Blake's story about the house being fine as roses when he left that morning.

Shit. Roads knew better.

Blake got his little wife and daughter out of there, trashed the place and then made sure he had a witness. Drove that little tart, Teri Mast, back to his place. Probably telling her the wife was away and it would all be sweet and sexy.

Yeah. Now there is a witness.

Backdoor smashed in like any kid would do. What the fuck is that shit? No, Roads wasn't buying this parlor trick. Not at all.

Nothing stolen? Nothing at all? Jewelry box sitting there for the world to see and nothing was taken? Shit. That's just stupid. Little Mex chick, Redman, she lapped it all up though, didn't she. That little chick should stick to what she knows, stick to shaking her ass and leave the detective work to those who don't think with their cunt.

This time when he brought Tom Blake in, it would be for questioning, not a damn statement. That bitch of an attorney he had could stick it up her ass. Roads would do more than interrupt her client's life. This time he was going to do it right. He would have Tom Blake airtight and strapped down for the needle. Bed time for Tommy boy. Blake would pay for all the murders he committed. All of them.

That email was just as lame. Blake probably used an onion-router and sent the damn thing from his own computer. Blake probably didn't know there would be traces of that letter, the original, left on his computer though. That was going to be the first nail in the coffin.

Roads needed a warrant for that laptop, and also for the inside of Blake's SUV. One hair. One drop of blood. That's all he needed. Just one. Blake himself said he hadn't seen his mother in over seven years. No explanation then for even a single hair. Just one, and that would be the shoe in the door.

From there he would build a proper case. A full case. No holes, nothing to argue about. This time it would be right. Those girls deserved better than Roads gave with the Blake case. Every time he recalled their faces, and their bodies, it tore at him, and twisted deep in his bowels.

One thing that did bother Roads, was Blake's threat in that email against his own family. Was he really planning on killing his wife and daughter? Roads pondered that and decided that yes, the sick bastard was planning to do exactly that; considering what Blake did his own mother. A man that could do that to his mother, well, that was a man that could do just about anything to anyone.

Roads looked around his office. It was well after day shift and the swing crew was already in for several hours. He didn't share a desk with the other shifts so it didn't matter if he slept there, but it was getting late. He took another swig from his whiskey flask and returned it into his back pocket. He was off duty, so what the fuck.