Posted in 1K Serials

1K Serials: Legacy Of Death, Ch. 8



By Richard Paolinelli





Mac Bolton had never considered himself a religious man. Before his mother’s death when he was only nine years old, he’d gone to church with his parents and prayed like he’d been taught. After his mother was killed in an armed robbery that has turned terribly tragic, the young Bolton lost any faith in a supreme being and the prayers quickly stopped.

But now, with ten unsolved murders that had undoubtedly been committed by one person and Bolton himself accused of the very same crimes he was trying to solve, he was quickly rediscovering prayer. It was quickly becoming the only thing left going for him.

He’d been brought in eight hours ago, quickly and quietly, by the two Internal Affairs detectives to the Chief of Detectives’ office. Kiner sat next to Bolton, in a private room away from prying eyes, playing referee between Bolton and the IA men. For the time being, they were the only four people who knew Bolton had been arrested during the night.

“Look Baker,” Bolton snapped hotly at the older IA man seated directly across the table. “How many times do I have to tell you? I am trying to catch the killer, I am NOT the killer!”

“Maybe when you can give us some sort of an alibi for any of the murders.” Jackson retorted, “then Sergeant Cooper and I will believe you Inspector.”

That point was making Bolton sweat. He couldn’t give an alibi that would get IA off his back. The time of death had been established for all of the victims and Bolton had been alone long enough each time to have committed the murders. He knew he wasn’t the killer, but he also knew that in their shoes he’d be just as unbelieving of his story as they were.

“You can’t,” Cooper charged, “can you? You don’t have any better alibi than you were asleep during six of the murders and somehow managed to be all by yourself in a city of almost one million people for the other four. You tell me Inspector, what you would think of a weak alibi like that?”

“It wouldn’t play with me,” Bolton allowed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t kill those women.”

“Unfortunately Inspector,” Baker interjected, “you have no proof that you didn’t and all you can offer us is your word that you didn’t and your claim, that in an incredible string of coincidences, no one knows where you were during all of the attacks?”

“Yeah Baker, it is an incredible set of coincidences,” Bolton replied. “They are also true. And no, I don’t have any concrete proof. But you don’t have any proof that I did, do you? If you think I am your killer, where’s your forensics? Other than a set of incredible coincidences, what the hell do you have that says I’m your killer?”

Lisa would have been impressed with his turning the IA’s theory back on them. He’d been thinking of asking Kiner to call her down here and see how IA would like to deal with an irate assistant D.A. Bolton decided against calling her in. There just wasn’t any way this was going anywhere.

The two IA men remained silent, giving Bolton hope that this nonsense was about to come to an end at last. Kiner, who’d been strangely silent during most of the interrogation, quietly reached into his jacket pocket, withdrew an evidence bag and handed it to Bolton without a word.

“Do you recognize what’s in the bag Inspector?” Cooper asked.

Bolton held up the clear plastic bag and saw a round, silver medallion attached to a silver chain. Bolton easily recognized the engraving on the back of the medallion.

“It’s the St. Michael’s medal my mother gave to my father on his first day on the job,” Bolton said, trying to figure out what this medal had to do with anything involving this case.

“Your father gave it to you to carry when he retired, didn’t he?” Kiner asked, his tone hushed.

“Yes, so?”

“Where’s the last place you remember seeing it?” Kiner asked.

“I don’t know,” Bolton replied. “The chain kept breaking and I quit wearing it a few months ago because I was afraid I was going to lose it. Why? What does my father’s medal got to do with this?”

Before anyone could answer, there was a quick rap on the door behind Kiner. A patrolman thrust in his head long enough to tell the Chief he had an urgent call.

“Well?” Bolton asked again after Kiner had left the room.

“It was found clutched in Inspector Townsell’s hand,” Cooper replied coldly. “About two hours before what you allege was the first time you arrived at the crime scene last night. Can you explain how it got there?”

Bolton felt the blood draining from his face. He looked at the medallion again. There was no doubt in his mind that it was his and he had no idea how it had wound up in a murdered woman’s hand. He did know, no matter how it had happened, he was in a lot of trouble.

“Inspector MacKenzie Bolton,” Baker said as both he and Cooper stood up. “You are under arrest for suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain…”

Baker broke off as Kiner returned to the room, his face almost as ashen as Bolton’s.

“This interview is over, gentlemen,” Kiner said. “Inspector Bolton is free to go.”

“I’m sorry Chief,” Baker replied. “We’re just placing the Inspector under arrest.”

“No, you’re not,” Kiner shot back. “Two more victims have been found. It’s been confirmed that it is our killer’s handiwork and the time of death has been set at just about three hours ago. I believe the three of us can attest that Inspector Bolton was right here at the time and therefore cannot be our perp, correct?”

Both of the IA men wisely backed off. Bolton stood up to leave for the latest crime scene but was stopped by Kiner.

“Mac, I’ll have someone drive you to the scene,” Kiner said. “But I’m afraid I have to pull you off the case.”

“Why? You just said…”

“Mac, shut up and listen to me. The victims…,” Kiner’s voice caught in his throat. “I’m sorry Mac. It’s your father. He’s killed your father and his nurse, Chelsea Jackson.”


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