Hunting a Killer

Chapter 1-2

Mika flopped face down on the bed in the motel room he was renting for the time being. There was no way he could have stayed at the house after the murders of his mother, Anna, and brother, Reko.

“I don’t care what they say, that was no home invasion. At least not the way the cops are thinking. Someone breaking in to steal whatever they can find might, maybe, shoot the homeowners to keep them from telling the cops what they looked like. But for damned sure they wouldn’t have cut them up the way Mom and Reko were. That was done out of hate or rage.”

He rolled over, staring up at the ceiling. “Who were they, and why our house? It’s not like there was anything worth stealing. We never did have anything of real value. It wasn’t the way we lived. If Dad hadn’t died, and Uncle Elias hadn’t insisted we move back to civilization, as he put it, we’d still be where we grew up. Civilization my ass.”

Realizing it was late, and knowing he had to be at the garage first thing in the morning, Mika went to shower, pushing his problems to the back of his mind for the time being. There wasn’t anything he could do about what happened until he figured out who wanted his mom and brother—and probably him if he’d been there—dead.

The reason he hadn’t been there haunted him. He’d met a guy who had brought his fancy car to the garage to have some work done on it. He was tall, dark, and sexy, or at least Mika thought he was. So when he’d come to pick up the car Saturday afternoon, and asked Mika if he wanted to go out for a drink, Mika had jumped at the chance to get to know him better. In this case, ‘better’ meant spending the night with the man.

He had arrived home soon after ten Sunday morning, and walked in on a scene so bloody and horrifying he knew he would remember it until the day he died. His brother was curled in a fetal position in the middle of the living room floor, as if he’d been trying to protect himself from the knife, or knives, that had sliced his chest, arms, and back. His mother was on her stomach in the doorway to the dining room, blood pooling under her body, a bullet wound visible in the back of her head.

“My guess, right now,” Detective Windom said an hour later, after what Mika considered a cursory examination of the crime scene, “is that the thieves tortured them, trying to find out where they kept the valuables. You mother tried to escape while they worked on your brother and they shot her, and then him.”

“There wasn’t anything worth stealing,” Mika had protested. “Nothing!”

“But the thieves didn’t know that,” Windom pointed out, as if he thought Mika was too stupid to figure it out for himself.

That had been a week ago.

His Uncle Elias, his mother’s brother, had flown into the city as soon as he’d heard about the murders, making decisions that weren’t his to make, in Mika’s opinion. His reasoning was that, at age twenty-five, and not used to the way the world worked, Mika was too young and innocent to understand what had to be done.

“I wasn’t, I’m not,” Mika had said more than once, but not to his uncle’s face.

After the coroner released the bodies, Elias had arranged for the funerals and burials, both on the same day because, as he’d put it, “Why prolong the agony.” When Mika had protested about them being buried in the local Lutheran cemetery, his uncle had told him that Anna had been a Protestant before she “took up with your father, who forced her to follow his insane heathen beliefs.” Mika had been too distraught to argue, even though he knew that wasn’t the truth.

Now, he was—hiding out? Is that what I’m doing? Afraid whoever killed them will come after me? Are the police right about its being a home invasion? Am I trying to make something more of it because I can’t accept it was only a random killing?

He had wondered that before. Now, as he got ready to go to work Monday morning, the same thoughts ran through his mind. If he’d had someone to talk to about them, maybe it would have helped, but he didn’t. He didn’t have any real friends, not even among the guys he worked with at the garage. His uncle had left two days ago, after turning the execution of his sister’s will over to a lawyer he’d hired. “Your parents were fools,” he’d said scathingly. “But at least they had sense enough to make wills, not that Anna got much when your father died. If it hadn’t been for me…” He left the rest unsaid; as well he should have, in Mika’s considered opinion.

As the only surviving member of his family, other than his uncle, and the sole heir, Mika had agreed to let the lawyer handle everything, including the sale of the house. Not that he’d be rich when that happened, as it was heavily mortgaged. The lawyer had suggested that the furniture and other household belongings be sold as well, once Mika had gone through the house to remove things he wanted to keep.

“Like what?” Mika had asked sadly. “My stuff? Yeah. Photos? Books? We didn’t own anything worth…anything.”

He’d packed a few clothes before moving to the motel but put off returning for the rest although knew he should go. Tomorrow, and then…find a place to live? A necessity, he knew. All he had to do was get past his sorrow and make it happen.

* * * *

“Off for lunch?” his boss asked when Mika walked past the garage office.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be back in an hour.” As always. God forbid I take even a minute more than that.

His boss nodded, reminding him that the car he was working on was due to be picked up before closing that afternoon.

A few minutes later, Mika was sitting on the patio of a local restaurant, looking at the burger and fries he’d ordered, wondering why he hadn’t gone for something more interesting, like spaghetti and meatballs.

“Do you always stare at what you’ve ordered, instead of eating or drinking it?” an amused voice asked.

Mika looked up. It took him a moment to realize the man speaking was the bouncer from the bar he’d visited the previous evening. “Not always,” he replied with a brief smile.

The man, Buck if he remembered correctly, was carrying a tray. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked. “All the other tables are full.”

Mika saw he was right, so he shrugged. “Be my guest.”

“Thanks.” Buck pulled out a chair and set down the tray, which held two burgers, coleslaw, and a take-out cup of coffee. “I didn’t expect to run into you, here,” he said. “You work in the area?”

“At the garage.” Mika pointed down the street.

“Cool.” Buck took a bite of his burger, then said, “You didn’t tell me your name, last night.”

“Why would I?” Mika retorted.

“No reason, I guess, other than that I told you mine.” Buck c****d his head in question.

“Yeah, well…Okay. I’m Mika.”

“Mika? I don’t think I’ve met anyone named Mika before. It sounds…foreign.”

“So I’ve been told, too often,” Mika replied dryly. “It’s Finnish, and no, I’m not from there. My mother’s parents were, and I’m named after her father, my grandfather.”

“I see. Presuming you’re not an only child, you must be the oldest boy, unless your brother was named after your father’s father.”

“Presumption.” Mika picked up his burger, sighed, and took a bite.

“But I was right, right?”

“Wrong on both counts. I wasn’t an only, and my brother was named after Mom’s grandfather, our great-grandfather.”

“So your father got left out?”

“Nope. They did the same thing with our middle names taking them from his side of the family. Mine is Aiden, Reko’s was Ian.”

“Irish or Scottish? And why are you talking about your brother like he’s not around?”

“Because he isn’t,” Mika replied tightly.

“Damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to open old wounds,” Buck said, sounding as if he meant it.

“Not old.” Mika bit back on saying anything more. It wasn’t Buck’s business.

Buck obviously got the message, because he concentrated on eating. Mika had finished and was about to leave when Buck asked, “One of the wars going on…everywhere?”

It took Mika a second to understand what he was asking. He shook his head then blurted out, “He was murdered.”

“Damn. Hell. I’m sorry. No wonder you’re so uptight.”

With a nod, Mika stood.

“Look, if you feel like talking sometime, you know where to find me,” Buck said. “I’m good at listening, for what that’s worth.”

All Mika could think to reply was, “Thanks.” He picked up his tray, dropping it off at the return counter. As he walked back outside, Buck was coming toward him, obviously planning on doing the same thing.

“I meant it,” Buck said. “Sometimes talking helps.”

“It won’t bring him or my mom back,” Mika retorted. He continued walking without looking back, glad that Buck didn’t try to pursue the issue.