Faces in the Mirror

Sally paused thinking about her answer. "It is, I believe, a legally recognized illness. Whether our guy truly has it, is another story. If the defense is able to prove according to the letter of the law, or even convince the jury he’s insane we have a problem." She took a sip of her beer as everyone waited for her to continue. "Let me put it this way. Suppose a young woman walks into a room and shoots her father in front of twenty witnesses. She goes to trial and is convicted of murder in the first degree. She receives the death penalty but the death penalty is never carried out. In fact, she is set free. Can you think of a case where that could actually happen?" The table was silent, "The event where that could happen, is if she was a Siamese twin. She could not be executed without killing an innocent person. So, now we have to fall back on an old legal maxim, ‘that it is better to let ten guilty people go free than to punish one innocent person’. So, today, some jurors have to consider the idea that it is possible that two totally different personalities, one good, and one evil, can exist inside one human being like Siamese twins."

"Personally, I think he’s faking it," Mitchell interrupted.

"I think it’s grandstanding for the media," Brockman added, "He’s going to have these civil liberties types or anti death penalty tree huggers parading around the courthouse getting their mugs on TV, and not one of them has ever been on a crime scene, or had to tell a family that their loved one had been murdered, or their child has been raped by some sociopathic animal. You know what I’d like to do? I’d like to take all of them down to the morgue, and give them a good look," Brockman ended his speech with a long gulp of beer.

"Are you glad you got that off your chest?" Beau asked jokingly. Everyone laughed.

"Yeah!" He shouted with a grin.

The front door of the bar swung open. Father Marchello and Detective Sergeant Bradley made their way through the noisy crowd to the table. Murph and Father Marchello embraced. Murph automatically announced, "Two more beers coming up." Then quickly departed. Bradley handed Beau a note. "I just got this a few minutes ago," he said, as he eyed the cold beer on the table. Beau read the note then handed it to Sally.

"What is it?" Mitchell inquired.

"Well it seems as though Mr. Jo Jo Jones wants to see Father Marchello, Sally and myself," he answered. Sally handed back the note. Murph returned, and handed the beer to the new arrivals. Bradley beamed as he greedily grabbed his beer, "As they say, up to the lips, and over the gums," he swallowed half to the glass in a series of large gulps. "Aaah," was an echo of satisfaction emanating from Bradley’s throat.

"Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us," Beau said, getting up from his chair. "We have to see what Mr. Jones has on his mind."

The leafless old oaks were decorated with Spanish moss and mistletoe as they stood like guardians of the dead. An old bronze statue of a Confederate General rode a black stallion in the fog. For a brief minute, it looked like the statue was alive. It had to be the moving mist. His eyes were playing tricks on him. The angry bronze horse, prancing up on his hind legs, with his forehoofs striking at the air, reminded Beau of a passage from the Bible, "And I looked to behold a pale horse riding; and his name that sat upon him was Death." For a fleeting moment it looked like the bronze face wore a mask of death. The detective blinked and the face faded away. Another thought crept into his mind. Was he living a self fulfilling prophecy? Was this the time and the place he would meet his death, like Harry? No! He was wasting time. He had to move. Fate had dealt the hand; let's play it out. The Lieutenant moved deeper into the mist searching for the slightest movement.

The beast had fallen into an open grave, and for the moment, was too weak to move. He gulped at the air. His adrenaline pumped his heart at an astounding rate. As if on command, or by self hypnosis, David closed his eyes and concentrated on slowing his heartbeat and intake of air. In no time, he was breathing normally. The adrenaline that fed his body was still running in high gear as he searched the night fog for his enemy. Picking up a heavy tree limb, the crazy man climbed out of the grave and disappeared into the mist.

Beau thought he saw movement to his right. With his weapon extended, he maneuvered himself to an old family tomb. The ornate structure was made of aged and yellowed white marble. On each corner of the tomb, weathered gargoyles grimaced at the night. A bronze cross at the apex of the roof had tarnished green with age. Stepping around quickly, Beau turned the corner in a slight crouch ready to fire. He was met by more empty space. The Lieutenant eased up and made a quick sigh of relief. Behind his back, a dark figure rose up from the grave, as if Lucifer himself had commanded it, and struck Beau from behind, sending him tumbling over the short gravestones. The blow had caught him totally off guard, causing him to lose his gun in the darkness. Beau tried desperately to catch his breath as he rose to one knee. Quickly, a webbed belt was slipped over his neck and pulled tight with a jerking force, cutting off his air. The detective grabbed at the garrote as he twisted and turned. Lifting the killer on his back, Beau charged backwards into the granite wall smashing his opponent between him and the wall. The grip loosened only slightly. That was enough for Beau to get his fingers under the belt. Using the back of his head, he butted it against the face of his unseen assailant. The beast still hung on, tightening his grip at every turn. Beau knew it was only a matter of time and he'd be too weak to fight. From the swirling fog a shot rang out, chipping away at the corner of the white marbled tomb. In the mist, he could see Sally kneeling with her weapon ready. The next shot missed his head by a few inches, tearing into an old oak tree. From the gray mist he heard Sally say, "FBI, you are under arrest."