Cold Case

Detective Max Grim laid his head back against the headrest of his car. Fifteen years as a detective, and he was working cold cases. He looked over his notes in a manila folder: Mark Van Deter, 80 year old widower, lived alone, and no prior criminal record. He rolled his eyes and looked at the dilapidated colonial style home. It reminded him of the Amityville Horror house.

He exited the vehicle and approached the house. The steps creaked in protest and he feared that he would fall through the rotted porch at any moment. He knocked on the screen door that threatened to fall off of its only hinge. He heard movement inside of the house long before anyone answered the door. The man that answered the door could have been Max's grandfather. He had a gentle look and warm smile. It was hard to believe that he was a cold-blooded killer.

"Hi Mr. Van Deter, my name is Detective Grim, may I speak with you?"

Uncertainty clouded Marks eyes. He stepped to the side and allowed Max to enter his home. Despite Mark's age and the condition of the exterior of the house, the interior was warm and hospitable, highlighted by a cozy fire in the fireplace. Max crossed the living room to the couch and sat down. Mark followed suit and sat down on the recliner.

"Sorry about the mess, sunny. What can I do for you?"

Max produced a black and white photograph of a deceased man. He sat it on the coffee table and slid it in front of Mark. Mark looked at the photograph and closed his eyes. A tear escaped the corner of his eye and trickled down his weathered face. "I had hoped that I would never see that face again."

"I'm sorry?" Max leaned forward.

Mark smiled and wiped the tear from his face. "It was a very long time ago, detective." He sat back in the recliner and stared into the fire. "What would you like to know?"

"I suppose I should advise you________

"It's alright, I have nothing to hide." Mark stood up and crossed the floor to the fireplace, with his back to Max. "The man in the picture is Jeremy Taylor. He used to live across the street. The house is no longer there. He used to stare at my wife and daughter when they were outside. He made excuses to come over and talk to my wife, Mary."

Max stood up and stood next to Mark at the fireplace. He had always loved fireplaces, but never had one in his house. Mark was staring into the fire. He seemed to be lost in thought. Max was about to speak when Mark came out of his trance. "I came home from work one day. I had been working double shifts at the old rubber factory. Of course, it's been closed for 40 years. It was strange for Mary not to be waiting up for me, she always had supper ready. I searched the house and found her in bed, with her throat slit."

Mark dropped his head and wept softly. Max hadn't looked deeper into Mark's life. It seemed to be a solid case that had a logical ending. The miracles of modern DNA testing had allowed further evidence on the 55 year old case. Max suspected that Mark had been involved in the case, although he wasn't sure why none of the other investigators had spoken with him. He obtained DNA from chewing gum that Mark had disposed of three weeks earlier and compared the DNA, and obtained a positive match. Jeremy had a diary that mentioned Mark frequently. Luck had it that Mark was still alive and well and still lived in Anderson.

"I went into my daughter's room." He paused and cried openly. He gained his composure and continued. "My Sarah was on the floor. Her throat had been cut also."

"Mr. Van Deter, I'm sorry for your loss. We can do this at the station if you would like."

"I'm alright. After all these years, it still hurts." He wiped the tears from his eyes and smiled to no one in particular. "I didn't know who did it. I waited for almost a year. I called the police department every day. They never made an arrest."

"So how did you know that Jeremy killed your family?"

Mark straightened and looked directly at Max for the first time. "Mary told me he did."

"But you said Mary was dead."

"She was." He turned his attention back to the fire. "She came to me, like she comes to me now. I still see her and Sarah. They never left me."

"So she told you that Jeremy had killed them?"

"Yes, she told me exactly what had happened. It was all I could do to not lose my mind. I was 25 years old and in pretty good shape. I waited for my chance."

It seemed to Max that Mark looked a little younger than when he first arrived at the house. Mark didn't seem to be as feeble and frail as he had. "What happened?"

"I kept talking to Jeremy. I made him think that I didn't suspect anything. I took him out one night after work and got him drunk. I drove him out into the country and beat him with a tire iron. Of course, he didn't go without a struggle. He got a few licks in."

Max hadn't counted on Mark being so cooperative. He knew that he should arrest Mark and take him to the station, but he didn't. He looked into the fire and tried to comprehend what the old man had told him. Now that Mark had told his story, he looked every bit as frail as he did when he arrived.

Mark looked at him and extended his arms toward him with his hands facing up. "I've lived with this for 50 years. It hasn't been easy, but I would do it again. He took the only two things that mattered to me. I'm ready to go."

"Mr. Van Deter, I want to thank you for being so cooperative. I'm going to give you the night to get things into order. I'll be back tomorrow with an arrest warrant." It was the first time that Max had ever waited on a warrant when he had enough evidence to make the arrest. Somehow, he felt like he owed to the old man. The justice system had let him down and forced him to seek vengeance on his own. Would it have been any different if he had been in Mark's shoes? He didn't think so, but justice had to be done.

He left Mark standing by the fire and showed himself out. He barely noticed the rotted porch and steps as he left the house. He reached his car and stopped. A chill crept down his spine like a frozen snake. He spun around, expecting to find someone sneaking up on him. The yard was empty. He hesitated and looked up at the second floor window of Mark's house. He could see a young woman and child dressed in white gowns. They smiled at him and the little girl waved. Max rubbed his eyes. When he took his hands away, they were gone.

Max never mentioned the case to anyone. He simply labeled it as unsolved. The memory of that night haunted him long after.

Story ID:	3673
Written by:	matt w bridgeforth (bio, contact, other stories)
Organization:	none
Story type:	Fiction
Location:	Anderson usa
Year:	2007
Person:	Max Grim/Mark