CHAPTER 14 ~ DOUBTED

The weekend passed uneventfully, but the Monday morning news report that Catherine heard on the radio during her taxi ride into work disturbed her.

“The subway slasher struck again last night,” reported the newsman, “killing two armed men, who allegedly assaulted an elderly woman. The D.A.’s office has issued a statement saying they are working with Transit Authority Police on a number of leads.”

“Wow,” remarked the cabbie. “As if the subways aren’t bad enough, now there’s some vigilante out there looking for trouble. Of course, I guess the lady he saved probably thinks he’s a hero. Still, it’s a good thing you took a cab.” He gave a jovial smile as he pulled up in front of the Criminal Courts Building.

She smiled back, shaking her head, saying, “I suppose so.” She paid him and stepped out of the cab, adding, “Thanks for the lift.”

Catherine dropped her things at her desk, hanging her coat on her chair as a coworker informed her that Joe wanted to see her. She found him in his office, feet up on the corner of the desk, slightly rocking in his chair, gazing through the window to the outside. A large stack of files stood prominently on the front of his desk.

“I have a horrible suspicion these are for me.” Catherine frowned slightly, eyeing the files, approaching them trepidatiously.

“Bingo, Radcliffe.” Joe turned his head, looking at the files, then stood. “And it’s your own fault.” He stretched a rubber band in circles around his hands, taking a step toward his window. Then he looked at her, smiling. “First thing I learned in the Army – never volunteer. And this is an ugly one.” His gaze shifted from her to out his window and back. “Take a good look.”

Catherine picked up pictures of the boys the slasher killed the night before, studying them.

“Seventeen and sixteen. They look like they tried to go a round with a tiger.” Joe walked around his desk, all pretense at humor gone. “Only this animal walks around on two feet, and half this city thinks he’s a hero.”

Catherine knew the slasher cut his victims, but those saved by the slasher did not describe him nor how he killed, claiming it was too dark to see anything clearly. The police had not revealed the method of the killings, so the pictures Catherine now studied were her first revelation as to the nature of the crime. The pictures reminded her viscerally of Vincent attacking Belmont and his men.

Joe noted the disturbed look on Catherine’s face, half teasingly saying, “Hey, you look a little green. You sure you got the stomach for this?”

“I’m sure,” she murmured. She looked up at him, asking, “What do you want me to do?”

He tucked his hands in his pockets, clarifying, “Our subway slasher knows how to take care of himself.” He reached for the files. “So, what do you got here?” He picked up the stack. “You got your karate schools, kung fu instructors, self-defense classes.” He smirked, holding them out to her. “Be the first deb on your block to collect the whole set.”

She gave a mildly amused smile in return, taking the stack of files.

“Now, you know the profile we’re looking for,” he continued. “Recent crime victim, maybe someone who’s lost a family.” He turned, leading the way to the door. “Flag anything subway related.” Leaning against the open edge of his door, he jokingly asked, “Oh, um… you have heard of the subways, right?”

She smiled, spinning away from his door, heading to her desk. She heard Joe shut the door behind her.

With the memory of Vincent attacking Belmont and his men whispering at the back of her mind, Catherine studied the files for the better part of the morning, noting anyone who had or had family who had problems with transit. Around lunchtime, Catherine found the familiar name of one whose involvement she found unfathomable. However, he might be able to help her focus her efforts in the right direction. She grabbed her purse, going to lunch. After that, she would visit Isaac Stubbs.

* * *

Catherine took a taxi to Isaac’s gym, entering the building and climbing the stairs with a confidence she lacked the first time. She moved into the gym with a fond smile, looking around, but not seeing Isaac.

“Isaac?” She walked into the gym, searching for him. Finally, she eyed a punching bag, and smiled. “You can come out, Isaac. I know you’re there.”

Isaac laughed, stepping from behind the bag, hot and sweaty from working out, wearing protective gloves.

“Can’t fool you anymore,” he declared.

She approached him, her smile stretching, saying, “I had a good teacher.” She opened her arms for a hug. “Hi.” They embraced warmly.

He kept his hands on her waist as he pulled back, asking, “So, you come for the refresher course, or is this a social call?”

She held onto his forearms, replying, “Neither, I’m afraid. I need to ask you some questions.”

He released her, using the towel around his neck to wipe sweat from his face, claiming, “Anything makes you sound that serious got to be pretty heavy. We talkin’ baseball, money, or love here?”

“We’re talking the subway slasher.”

He wiped his face again, walking to the table that held his water bottle, asking, “So, who am I talking to here – friend… or D.A.?” He picked up his water bottle and took a drink, looking back at her.

She threw her hands out, exclaiming, “Me.”

He took another drink, set his bottle down, and headed back to the bag before saying, “Wrong answer.” He punched the bag, grunting with every hit.

“He’s killing people, Isaac,” she beseeched him.

“That so?” He punched the bag two more times. “I notice you don’t say –” he struck the bag again, “– innocent people.”

“Innocence or guilt is for the courts to decide,” she declared. “If you know something…”

“I don’t know nothing,” he asserted, pausing his assault on the punching bag. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell no D.A.” He resumed his workout.

“Whose side are you on?” she asked.

He stopped, staring at her for a moment, then said, “You give me ten minutes to shower and change,” he pointed his finger at her, finishing, “I’ll show you.”

Catherine waited for Isaac, thinking of how she had protected Vincent, because she knew the authorities would not understand. She also knew this was different. The slasher had attacked four times in the last week, while Vincent protected her once. The slasher went out in search of trouble, but Vincent only came to her aid because he knew she was in danger. Plus, the slasher killed indiscriminately, and she was certain Vincent would not kill if he had another choice. Almost completely certain. She hated the doubt that whispered in the back of her mind.

* * *

“Vincent, your mind doesn’t seem to be on the game.” Father sat in his chamber across from Vincent, a chessboard between them. “You haven’t looked at the board since I completed my move. A good two minutes ago. Is something wrong?”

Vincent sat in his chair, slouching, staring through a spot on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Father.” He glanced at the board, giving a halfhearted grin. “I thought you were still trying to decide how to move.” He moved a piece. “Check.” He turned his gaze back to the floor.

Father shook his head at Vincent’s jest, then frowned at the board, saying, “How did you… Oh, I see. So, Vincent,” he studied the board for a way out of check, “what’s troubling you?” He reached for a piece, pulled his hand back, put a finger over another piece, withdrew his hand again, then finally moved a third piece. “Vincent?”

Vincent looked up as if just hearing him, then looked at the board and captured Father’s blocking piece.

“Check,” Vincent said again, then once more dropped his gaze.

“Vincent, talk to me… please. What is bothering you?” He scrutinized the board again.

“Father, one of the helpers thought you might want to see this,” said Jamie, entering Father’s chamber, a newspaper in hand. She extended the paper to him.

“Thank you, Jamie.” Father spared her a smile, wistful at the thought that before long she would no longer be truly a child, noticing she studied the board as well. He took the paper, but held it in his lap, refocusing on the game. He moved a piece, then turned his eyes on Vincent and said, “Well, Vincent? What is wrong?” Then he heard Jamie suck in a sharp breath.

Vincent looked at Jamie, then at the board, then captured Father’s queen with his own, saying, “Checkmate.” He looked at Father, remarking, “Don’t worry about it. Your attention was elsewhere.”

Father frowned at the board, then at Vincent, inquiring, “And where was your attention?” He picked up the paper and opened it. The headline addressed the subway slasher. “Oh, my. There’s been another attack.”

“That’s what the helper thought you’d want to see,” Jamie informed him. “If you don’t need me for anything else…”

“No, Jamie, thank you.” Father continued to scan the article.

Jamie nodded and left.

Father gazed perceptively at Vincent, stating, “This is what you’re thinking about.”

Vincent sighed, turning his eyes to the ceiling.

Father cocked his head to one side, asking, “Catherine?”

Vincent sighed again, replying wearily, “Catherine is afraid; worried. I believe she’s seen something about this – I don’t know what – that makes her think of me. She doesn’t want to believe I could be involved, is nearly convinced I can’t be, but a hint of doubt lingers.” He sat up straight, looking at Father. “We need to be on the lookout for this man. He could draw attention to us that we don’t want. Perhaps if we see him, can identify him, or his movement in the subways, we can end this fear. For them… and for us.”

“I suspect you’re right.” Father nodded his agreement. “Let’s make sure everyone knows to be aware of anything suspicious. And to be very careful.”

“Father…” Vincent stood, pacing slowly about the room. “This man… he’s defending people. Stopping criminals. There have been times that I’ve…” His voice trailed off as he picked up a random book.

“Vincent…” Father went to him, turning him until they faced each other. “You defend when you have to. When violence… intrudes on your life. And I know how it bothers you. That man… he puts himself in a place to find violence. Probably looks for it. That is… a very different scenario. One who goes looking for trouble… who knows how far he’ll go.”

Vincent nodded, meeting Father’s gaze, then said, “We should call the council soon to discuss how to handle this threat.”

“I’ll send a message on the pipes. We should be able to get everyone together this afternoon.”

* * *

Isaac took Catherine to an old, three story, brick building, with faded banner advertisements decorating two sides. Next to the couple of steps outside the front door, a few people stood around, while others sat in metal folding chairs. Some of them wore simple white captain’s hats with black brims.

“Here it is,” said Isaac as they rounded a corner to the front of the building.

“The Protectors?” asked Catherine.

“The nuts in the white hats who ride around on the subways looking for trouble, right? Right. Come on.” Isaac held the door open for Catherine.

Inside, the clean, well-lit main room held a gym, complete with exercise machines, punching bags, and mats scattered on the floor. An American flag, posters, and shelves holding towels adorned one wall. Two bleacher-height steps at the back of the room led up to a stage with a mat, more equipment against the back wall, and a door out of the main room. Several chairs stood around one of the mats on the main floor. On the mats, people practiced martial arts in groups, pairs, or alone; others worked with the punching bags or weights. Throughout the room stood Protectors, dressed in street clothes and identified by their white captain’s hats.

“Look around.” Isaac gestured around them. “And these people ain’t… crazed vigilantes in training, Cathy. Just ordinary people trying to take care of each other. And you wanted to know whose side I was on?” He pointed at a group of people paired up and practicing martial arts on a mat. In one pair, an elderly woman, wearing the loose pants and jacket of a karate uniform, a white belt tied around her waist, practiced with a trainer, also wearing a white gi, only with a black belt. The elderly woman flipped her trainer to the mat as they watched. “I’m on their side,” Isaac finished.

“Is that responsible?” Concern etched Catherine’s face. “A woman that age could get hurt trying to resist a mugger.”

“She didn’t resist last time,” a deep voice rumbled behind them.

Catherine and Isaac turned their heads to see the speaker.

“She couldn’t get her wedding ring off her finger,” declared the man. “The mugger figured he’d make it easy for her by… cutting off the finger. One of our people stopped him.”

Catherine’s lips tugged down at the corners and her brows drew together as she listened to the account.

Isaac gestured to the man, telling Catherine, “This is the man who put this whole place together.” He reached up, patting the man on the back. “Cathy Chandler,” he gestured to her, then pointed to the man. “Jason Walker.”

Jason smiled, offering Catherine his hand, which she shook.

“Jace, please,” he requested.

“I’ve seen you on T.V.,” Catherine remarked, grinning.

“None of it’s true, I swear,” Jace claimed, chuckling. He looked at Isaac, kidding him. “Stubbs, how does someone as ugly as you happen to know so many beautiful women?”

Isaac smirked, replying as if it were obvious, “Cathy was one of my students.”

“You mean you actually paid this man money?” Jace gave Catherine half a smile, eyebrows raised in mock disbelief.

“She’s with the D.A. now,” Isaac informed him.

Catherine watched Jace look at Isaac, caution replacing the friendliness on his face.

“Ohhh,” Jace drew the word out, turning his gaze back to Catherine. He tilted his head back slightly, his eyes becoming hooded. “Are we in trouble again?”

“I don’t know,” Catherine teased, smiling lightly. “Have you done anything?”

“Not as much as we’d like to.”

Catherine felt the humor of her lighthearted question dissipate with Jace’s serious tone. She looked at Isaac, her smile fading, no longer sure what to think of Jace; his comment had pushed him near the top of her reasonable suspects list.

“Is there someplace we can talk, Jace?” Isaac asked. “Catherine has some questions… about the Subway Slasher.”

Jace looked between them, then led them to the door off the stage, leading out of the room.

“What kind of questions?” asked Jace, taking the stairs to the upper floor.

“The D.A.’s office has taken a more active role since the slasher killed those boys,” Catherine began. “We believe this person is trained in fighting, so we’re looking into facilities that offer self-defense instruction. Since I know Isaac, I asked him if anyone in particular stuck out in his mind as someone capable of these kinds of acts. He brought me to you.”

“If a transit cop rescued that lady,” remarked Jace, entering his office at the top of the stairs and ignoring the ambiguity of her comment, “he’d get a commendation. This guy’s minus a badge, so that makes him a… psychopathic monster.”

In his office, bookshelves held books, Asian statuettes, trophies, weapons, and portraits and competition photos of Jace. Similar paraphernalia decorated the walls, one of which held many weapons of various styles, most of them typically seen in kung-fu movies, arrayed for display. The only window in the room overlooked the gym on the lower floor, through the wall opposite the weapons display.

Isaac closed the office door, standing back and listening to the exchange between Catherine and Jace.

“No,” Catherine returned, “ripping two teenagers to pieces makes him a psychopathic monster. A traffic cop would have arrested them.”

“Right.” Jace nodded. “Right. Then, uh, seeing as how they were juveniles, they would have had to serve a little soft time, then they would have been back on the subway, kicking another old lady to death. Great system you got there, Ms. D.A.”

“It’s not perfect,” Catherine conceded.

“Tell me about it.” Jace pointed to his window, approaching to look over the room below. “This is where they come, Cathy.”

Catherine followed him to the window. Jace propped his foot on the bench under the window, resting an elbow on his knee, leaning toward Catherine, gazing at her.

“The old people,” Jace continued, “who have steel bars on their windows and still can’t sleep at night. The woman who can’t understand why the boy who killed her son walked free. The rape victims… who scream when their husbands touch them. This is where they come when the plea bargaining is over. Believe me – they know the system isn’t perfect.”

“I don’t know a better one,” Catherine said. “Do you?”

Jace looked back out the window, watching the people below.

“Of course, you can find failures to point at,” Catherine added as Jace looked back at her, “but most of the time the system works. It’s all we’ve got.”

“No,” Jace declared. “We have ourselves. Our courage, our… our strength, our compassion. We have each other. And now… we’ve got him.” Jace smirked, adding, “Whoever the hell he is.”

Catherine considered what Jace said, then turned to Isaac, who gave her a kind smile and a nod.

“Well,” Catherine turned back to Jace, “thank you for your time.”

“Anytime.” He ushered her to the door. “Stubbs, take it easy, man.”

“You, too.” Isaac shook Jace’s hand, then held the door open for Catherine.

Catherine stayed quiet, contemplating the conversation, as she followed Isaac down the stairs to the main floor and out of the gym.

“Well, Cathy?” Isaac probed as they descended the couple of outside steps to the sidewalk.

“It gave me a lot to think about,” Catherine replied once they were on the street.

“That was the whole point.”

“Isaac.” Catherine stopped, turning to him. “If you thought… if you even suspected… that this… vigilante was someone you knew… a friend… what would you do?”

“Talk to him. Ask him. Go to where the man lives and look him dead in the eye. But first, I’d be real sure about one thing. I’d be real sure I wanted to know.”

Catherine nodded, then remarked, “I understand your point, and Jace’s. My struggle is with the difference between being on hand to defend someone and seeming to go looking for trouble, then killing when it might be avoidable. If no one’s life is in danger, is killing really the only viable response to assault? How far is too far?”

“Who’s to say when someone’s life is in danger? Can we know that’s not the case if we aren’t there?”

“If that is the case, why not stick around and tell the authorities so? Why leave without explaining oneself?”

“You make a valid point, too, Cathy. Just don’t rush to judgment until you know the man’s story.”

“I won’t. I need to get back to work, though. Thanks for the talk.”

“Anytime. You know I’m always here for you.”

“Likewise.” Catherine gave him a parting hug before hailing a taxi.