Discarded, p.1
Discarded, page 1
DISCARDED
Bob Gaston
~~~
Smashwords Edition
To the women who have been used and abused, by thoughtless predators, then rejected and abandoned.
Copyright © 2014 by Robert Gaston
Print ISBN-:13:978-1494752033
Print ISBN-:10:1494752034
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
Everything I do is for Bob, Elisa, Mary Sue, and the grandkids, KK, Clint, Alex, Sam, Daniel, and Abby. You make me complete.
My thanks to Jeanne for her encouragement, help with the editing, and plot suggestions… and to Marg Grogg for her critique.
Thanks also to Billy Murphy for photographic work on the cover
Art is by the author. Also by the author: "The War Within." A novel about the ravages of war on a spoiled young Yankee girl and a Rebel. available in digital and paperback.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Author
1.
The ghostly whisper of a raised window followed by the flutter of wind-jostled curtains penetrated the silence of the dark room. She sat up, her frantic gaze searching the shadows for an intruder.
The muscles of her stomach tightened and a quiver crawled up her spine as the silhouette of a head, outlined by the faint light from the neighbor’s house, slowly rose above the window sill and a shadowy mass filled the frame. Her breath stopped, her scream froze in her throat. Run…run, don’t be his next victim, her mind silently pleaded. She couldn’t move.
The grunt of muscular exertion and the faint rasp of cloth squirming through the open window broke the silence. With a light thud, the intruder dropped from the counter to the tile floor. Why didn't I call the police after I found the unlocked window?
Her breath returned in quick and shallow gasps. Karen clinched her teeth to keep them from chattering. Squinting, she tried to track the trespasser in the gloomy light of the kitchen. She tightened her grip on the brass candle stick in her lap. Cautiously, with a slow movement, she raised her empty hand to the light switch.
The faint tread of footsteps crept among the shadows, toward the wall where she was seated. Her fingers found the switch. She took a deep breath and pushed upward. Illumination ruptured the dark and the invader stopped in mid-stride.
“Mom?”
Karen folded her arms, hiding the weapon. Anger furrowed her brow until her eyes throbbed with the intensity of her irritation and the irrational fears that he had sneaked out while a psychopath roamed Dallas streets.
Thirteen year old Clint tried to meet her stare but quickly looked away. An awkward grin turned up the corners of his mouth and he shrugged.
Minutes ticked by. She continued to sit and stare at her son. The silence was broken only by the clock and Clint tracing the edges of one of the Mexican floor tiles with the toe of his shoe.
Karen didn’t blink, or speak; her face was frozen in a frown of disapproval.
Finally, with his head lowered, he glanced upward. “Mom, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise.”
“Do what?” She whispered in a voice clouded with frustration and anger.
“Sneak out.” He looked at her with an innocent expression, an impish smile.
“A-n-d?” she drew the word out with a rising inflection.
Clint’s smile froze. His eyes became tentative, questioning; he cleared his throat. “It was just me and some friends. We just hung around. We didn’t do nothin’ special.”
“Where?”
“Around.”
Anger clouded Karen’s face. “Did Mr. Weatherly enjoy your visit?”
Startled, Clint took a step away from his mother and mumbled, “How’d you find out?”
“He called. He is going to file charges in juvenile court against you and your friends for vandalism.”
“Can he do that?”
“Yes.”
“We didn’t break nothing, honest. We just hung toilet paper on his trees and bushes.”
“How did you get across town to Mr. Weatherly’s house?”
“In a car.”
She pursed her lips and stared at him. “Who drove?’
“Josh.”
“Does he have a license?”
“No ma’am.”
Karen rose from her chair and turned her back to Clint to hide the moisture that filled her eyes. “Did you steal a car?” Her voice lost its harshness as she walked to a table and put the candle stick down.
“Josh sneaked his mom’s.”
She leaned her head against the rough plaster wall, every fiber of her body trying to collapse in a bawling heap on the floor. He’s only thirteen. Is he turning into a delinquent? He’s been thrown out of two schools for fighting… If Weatherly throws him out of Greenfield what will we do? The tears started. She buried her face in her hands, sobs racked her body. “It’s too hard.”
“What?”
“My life… my job… trying to raise you alone.”
“Why are we alone?”
“What?”
“Why don’t I have a dad, or grandparents, aunts, and cousins? Why don’t I have a family like the other kids?
Karen turned to Clint, startled by the torment in his voice. “You know…”
“I know what you told me.”
“I---” Karen hesitated. It’s too soon for this. How do I tell him I can’t remember? Will he understand that men terrify me when he is only--
“What did my dad look like?” Clint’s challenge cut through her thoughts.
“He looked like you.”
“Why don’t we have any pictures?”
“I lost them when we moved.”
“You’re lying.”
“What?” Startled, she looked at her son. “That’s rude and offensive.”
“When I was a little kid you could tell me stuff about my dad being a hero.”
“He was.” Please God, not now. Her eyes danced around the room searching for an escape. Finally she took a deep breath and looked at her son. “He was shot down during the Gulf War.”
“No he wasn’t,” Clint bawled. “And all the kids know it.” his voice was bitter with bottled-up anger and confusion. “I know how to use the internet,” he yelled. “The Air Force has no record of an A-10 pilot named Larsen. You don’t even have a birth certificate or marriage records. Who are you Mom?” He took a ragged breath and whimpered,” Who am I?”
2.
The following morning Karen picked up the phone and hit the speed dial.
“Dr. Blair’s office.”
“Jean, this is Karen. Can he take my call?”
“Let me check.”
A click, followed by a buzz, and Donald said, “Dr. Blair.”
“Donald. Karen. I need to schedule a session.”
“Karen, it’s unethical to counsel you after we’ve dated. That’s why we stopped your sessions and I recommended Doctor Shofner.”
“Not me. Clint. He sneaked out of the house last night and papered his headmaster’s home and...” Karen stopped talking, not sure how to explain the confrontation and the panic she was feeling…”Donald, he’s asking questions about my family.”
“Let me check my schedule.” There was the rustle of pages in his day planner. “I have a Krav Maga workout at six… I can scratch that... Can you get off the air and be here by seven?”
“Yes. Thank you, Donald.”
“Karen, I’ve told you Clint can’t be helped until you resolve your problems.”
“My boss hates me. If he found out I was seeing a psychiatrist he’d fire me. How would I make a living?”
“You could marry me and I could provide therapy at home.”
“Don’t make jokes and no more roses.”
“You’ve come a long way Karen. You’re making decisions and…”
“We’ll see you at seven. Good bye, Donald.” Karen put down the phone, and ran her fingers through the natural waves of her shoulder length hair, tossed her head and watched it fall perfectly into place. She fingered an inch wide patch of silver hair. Damn skunk streak, the doctor s
In the foyer a rose lay on the floor below the mail slot in the front door. She stood looking at it, annoyed. A single rose had been delivered to her desk and now one was pushed through the mail slot at her home. This is too much, even for Donald... Hopefully he got the message and this will be the last one. She pushed the flower aside with her foot, opened the door, and headed to work.
Across town at the East Dallas police substation detectives Paul Ragsdale and John Palmer entered a large room filled with uniformed officers and men and women in various forms of civilian dress.
“All right people listen up.” Captain of Detectives, William Cox waited until the officers and detectives settled down for the morning briefing.
“The violence in Deep Ellum is getting out of hand. Since March, two people have been killed and eleven others injured in shootings, stabbings or robberies…” He cleared his throat and looked up to make sure everyone was paying attention. When the whispering and movement stopped he continued, “In the past month, three young women were grabbed off the streets or in club parking lots, raped and brutally beaten. This morning we have a missing persons report for a young girl. She left a club and never reached her car. She’s still missing.”
He paused, his eyes roaming across each group of officers. “The Chief is under a lot of pressure to put an end to these events. I want more plain clothes and uniforms in the area.” His voice rose, “Starting right now. Lieutenant Ford will give you your assignments.” The Captain walked to his office and closed the door.
Ford cleared his throat. “The Deep Ellum attacks appear to be the work of one individual. We have no description. We know he drives a dark, carpet lined van. The frequency of the attacks is increasing, and getting more violent.”
He paused, his eyes taking in different sections of the room as he issued instructions. “Homicide, continue working. Be on the alert for any sign the serial rapist is connected to your cases.”
He raised the clipboard with his notes and used it to point to different groups around the room, Robbery; Narcotics; and Gangs; free up three men each, for late night Deep Ellum duty. The sergeants will pick the men. Keep your eyes open. Okay that’s all. Be careful. Stay alert. Palmer and Ragsdale, my office.”
The two detectives rose from their chairs and walked across the squad room into the small glass enclosure. “You two will concentrate on the rapes and coordinate. Start with the cold case files. Rags, look for convictions. Look at every rape where the victim was young and beaten.”
“How far back do you want me to go?”
“Five years. Palmer, I want you to coordinate with the street units and feed them anything Rags finds.”
****
By ten that morning Dallas Police Sergeant Pat Grogan was in physical pain. To add to his discomfort and urgency, a line from an old television bladder control commercial kept bouncing around his head, got to go, gotta go, gotta go right now.
He took the Central Expressway exit at Ross Avenue, turned into an opening beside an abandoned building, and guided his patrol car around a deep water filled pothole. The left front tire splashed through the edge of the puddle from last night’s rain. Damn, now I’ll have to take the car in to wash off the mud. He drove into the alley behind a the derelict brick garage and stopped. “Dispatch, this is Grogan. I’m at Ross and Central. I’ll be out of the car for a couple of minutes. ”
“10-4.”
Grogan pulled on his jacket and stepped out of his blue and white. Oh man, I should’ve skipped that last cup of coffee. He walked a few feet to the battered dumpster, unzipped his fly, and contributed to the moisture on the rain splattered trash container. Whoever said the most underrated thing in this world is a good piss was a genius. The portly officer sighed, took a deep breath, zipped his pants, and headed back to his unit.
“Help.” The voice was muffled and weak.
“What the hell?” Grogan scanned the trash littered alley. “Where are you?” he called.
“Please help me.”
The dumpster? “Hold on. Dallas Police. I’m coming.” He brushed aside the water soaked rose resting on top of the trash container, grasped the heavy metal lid, and heaved it open. Moisture from last night’s rain rolled off the lid and down the sides of the container, soaking his uniform and falling into the container. Grogan’s eyes followed the drops as they fell. A winter sunbeam broke through the cloud cover and lit the battered nude body of a young girl. “Oh shit another one.”
“Please help me.” The voice floated through her torn lips on a bloody bubble. The girl lay in garbage like a discarded rag doll with a torn dress. Dark bruises were forming around the red marks on her arms and throat. Her face was swollen. Her lip torn.
“Don’t move.” The sergeant triggered his lapel mike. “This is Grogan. Send the medics to Ross and Central, behind the abandoned garage. Also send the lab boys, I found a girl.”
“Help me.” Her hand reached toward him.
“I’m here. An ambulance is coming. Don’t be startled, I’m going to get in the dumpster with you.” Grogan raised his foot to step on the metal sleeve used to lift the dumpster. His foot slipped and he stumbled into the metal container. Man I’m too old for this. He shifted his gun to his hip, adjusted his stomach over the broad leather belt and grabbing his thigh with both hands lifted his leg and forced his foot onto the top of the metal sleeve.
“How did you find her, sergeant?”
Startled, Grogan reached for his service revolver and looked back into the lens of a television camera. He scowled and quickly removed his hands from the gun and looked away. “Jesus, Henry, you scared the shit outta me. How’d you get here before the ambulance?”
“Skill and luck, Grogan… skill and luck.”
Minutes later when the wail of a siren announced the approach of the paramedics, Grogan was sitting amid the boxes and rubbish with the girls head in his lap.
The sound of brakes and slamming doors announced the arrival of the rescue squad.
“Sarge, you really ought to spend more time in the gym. I got a nice shot of your butt when you crawled into the dumpster. It should be worth lunch when we wrap up.” Henry said.
A muscular paramedic put his hand on the shoulder of the television cameraman. “Move it Henry so we can do our job.”
Grogan watched as the young medic placed his hands on the rim of the dumpster, vaulted into the container, and settled beside the girl. “Show off,” he muttered.
“Have you moved her, Sargent?”
“No. I just raised her head out of the garbage.”
The medic wrapped the girl in a blanket and lifted her over the lip of the dumpster into the waiting arms of a second EMT.
“Hey Grogan,” Henry yelled from where he was taking pictures of the departing ambulance, “Stay in the container so I can interview you. It’ll make good video.”
“You’re a damn maggot,” Grogan called back. “If you want a picture of someone in the dumpster, get your butt in here among your cockroach relatives and I’ll take the pictures. I’m getting outta this stinking garbage.”
Before Henry could respond the sergeant crawled out of the dumpster.
“Come on, Grogan, I’ll buy coffee for the rest of the week,” Henry pleaded. “What did she tell you?”
“You want to know if she was raped. I don’t know. Talk to the doctor who examines her.”
“Did the girl say anything? Did she give you a description? Give me something, three young girls have been raped, beaten, and dumped in this area.”
“We talked.”
“What about?”
“Can’t say. It’ll be in my report.”
“Don’t forget I’ve got tape of you dumpster diving.”
“Don’t you forget blackmail is against the law? I’ll get Channel 10 to take pictures of me reading you your rights and marching you off to a cell.”
