Retribution

By Al Rennie

When Al's daughter is beaten and her children are taken, he realizes how out of touch he has been. He is snapped into a new reality when his son-in-law demands payment for the safe return of his grandchildren. He can't believe what has happened and he seems powerless to respond. But when it all goes south, he does respond with the considerable resources he can bring to the table - and Norm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Al Rennie
• Release date: Dec 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465871022

Al Rennie

I was born and raised in Toronto. I attended Upper Canada College before taking a degree at Queen's University. I have worked as a lifeguard for the Toronto Harbour Police, a youth worker for the Toronto YMCA, and an English teacher in Lakefield. I am married with two great daughters and an extended foster family. My interests include Maple Leaf hockey - this is our year - New England Patriot football and writing.

Book preview

Retribution

Al Rennie

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 by Al Rennie

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.

Image Credit: Photographer – Ian Britton

Cover Credit: Rita Toews – probably the most caring and patient cover creator ever!

Formatting Credit: L.K. Campbell – just great – yet again!

Dedication

For my wife – Marsha

How does she do it?

A few Reader Responses to Clearwater Journals after it appeared on Free e-books.

(Rated Number Two on their Top Ten List of all genres with more than 11000 hits in eight weeks.)

What a riveting story with bouts of wry humor. Again Please. – Bruce

Excellent read with more twists and turns than a road through the mountains. Enjoyed every minute! – Kingstonbears

A really well written book. Loved it a bunch. Hope he does another soon. Maybe a series??? – Wa6ype

A truly fun read, great sense of humor and a good plot. I recommend this author with pleasure. – Evelyn

Excellent writing, fast paced, liked it a lot. – Toerien

Gripping story, believable characters. Would definitely recommend. Very well written. Thoroughly enjoyed it. – Rachel Caldicott

Put my life on hold until I finished it. Great read! You live the character’s emotions and you can’t be sure of the outcome until the last page. – Charles Hough

Enjoyable reading – a combination of a thriller and a love story – Pentti Grant

I was kind of wishing it didn’t have to end – James Jolliffe

Prologue: The Perfect Couple

To the casual observer or even someone, like myself, who very clearly should have looked a little bit closer, Sarah and Mark Neilson would have appeared to be the perfect, happily married, young professional couple. They were both still in their thirties; they were both quite healthy – fitness freaks in a non-competitive way – they were very well educated – a total of six degrees from excellent universities between them. They were already financially comfortably well off. The prospect for a very successful future, by any measure, was enormous. In a phrase – the world was their oyster – or should have been.

They had been married for only ten years and were already the proud parents of two very bright and attractive youngsters and, until recently, had contemplated having another. Their two active, young children were Robert, called Bobby from the moment he could crawl, and Jennifer. Only her maternal grandfather was permitted to call her Jenny. No one could tell her grandpa not to call her that – or if they did, he didn’t listen. Your grandpa is just like that – always has been, Jenny’s Mom had said. Bobby was eight years old. He was a dark haired, green-eyed charmer who was captain of his tyke hockey team and had yet to meet an intellectual concept in his enriched school classroom that he didn’t grasp completely and immediately. Jennifer was a year younger – age seven and seemed just as intelligent. She was a fair haired, blue eyed, little beauty who was already rapidly becoming an excellent pianist. Her grandfather liked to tell her that she would grow up to be the heartbreaker of many young men. She really didn’t know what he meant by that, but she always managed to smile for him when he said it.

Their young father, Mark, had an undergraduate degree in business administration and most recently an M.B.A. from prestigious Queen’s University in Kingston. He played a mean game of squash in the winter and carried a three handicap in golf – a sport that he loved but, due to the demands of his job and his family, was having more and more trouble finding the time to play. There were foolish moments, when the job was getting to him, that he found himself dreaming of joining Tiger Woods and Mike Weir on the professional golf circuit. He was the steadily and quickly rising upper management executive accountant with a prestigious American owned local manufacturing firm called Jones, Black and Leader – head offices in Atlanta, Georgia.

Their attractive young mother, Sarah, had her Bachelor of Arts as well as her Master of Arts. She also had a Bachelor of Science and her Master of Science before she took her PhD in child psychology from the same university as Mark. She had entered university three weeks before her seventeenth birthday and graduated with the PhD when she was twenty-eight. To say she was intellectually sharp would be like calling Albert Einstein kind of bright. She might have been doing research and lecturing at a major university if she had been so inclined, but she was currently happily employed in her own home town as a child psychologist with the Riverview and District Board of Education. She loved her job, her kids and her life.

The young family lived in a new upper middle class suburban sub-division that local realtors described as highly desirable in the town of Riverview, Ontario. The future was theirs.

And then something went wrong – terribly wrong.

Hello, I’m home, the willowy young mother said as she closed and locked the sturdy oak front door of her five bedroom, three bathroom, brick, four thousand square foot, two story home. She had parked her new Lincoln MKX beside Mark’s one year old, dark blue Eddie Bauer Ford Explorer in front of the left side of the attached double garage. Mark must already be home and with the kids. That was not what she had wanted or expected.

Little Bobby ran from the back family room where the large screen Hitachi television was loudly blaring a new Scooby Doo cartoon. On his heels, was cute little Jenny who was also quick to scamper to greet her Mommy but not as fast as Bobby. They ran into their mother’s arms as she stooped to greet them in the white tiled front foyer. They were getting bigger. Their momentum almost bowled her over. Kisses given and received – now to catch up on what had happened today in their classes at school. As she expected, their words were rushed and came quickly tumbling at her from both her children in an unintelligible torrent. She smiled warmly and hugged them. She would decipher their meanings later as they each spent some time with her reading before they got ready for bed. Her husband, Mark, had not yet appeared.

Where’s daddy? Sarah asked softly. The two young children suddenly became very quiet. Is something wrong? she asked immediately – anxiously sensing that something must have happened. Mark had been alternately brooding silently and then storming angrily for the last few weeks now. He would not tell his wife what was bothering him. In fact, he seldom talked to her for any more time than was absolutely necessary. He had started sleeping in the guest bedroom only this last weekend.

Daddy yelled at us when we came home, Bobby said in a hushed tone – a shared secret.

He told us to shut up, Jennifer added her big blue eyes just starting to brim over.

Where was Mrs. Morgan? Sarah asked consciously trying to control her rising anger. It was one thing to be moody; it was another to yell at her children. Mrs. Morgan was the older woman – a Godsend really – who regularly came in after school hours and cared for the children while she prepared dinner for the family until either Mom or Dad got home. Lately, Sarah had always tried to get home first. She was worried about leaving her children unattended with her increasingly unreliable and increasingly angry husband. He was a time bomb, and he was getting worse.

Daddy said he sent the meddling old bitch home, Bobby answered while also trying not to cry. Captains of hockey teams, no matter whether it was tyke or the N.H.L., didn’t cry. Dion Phaneuf never cried except if he got a stick up his nose. Then it was okay – for a little while. Grandpa had told him that. What does meddling mean Mommy?

She’s gone home, Jenny pronounced solemnly as her tears flowed and spilled down her cheeks.

Heather stood up. She would have to talk with Mark later. He couldn’t continue this way. Right at this moment, it was more important to get her two obviously upset children settled.

Let’s go back and see what Scooby is up to. Then we can make some dinner. I think tonight is spaghetti and meatballs a la fromage.

Fromage is just French for cheese, said Robert with a knowing smile. Jennifer nodded vigorously as if everybody would know that to be a fact.

It is? asked Sarah her quiet voice rising in mock astonishment acting as if she had no idea that fromage was the French word for cheese. This was how she started the verbal word play her kids loved. I thought it meant with Jergen’s soap.

Ech!! the kids said exchanging quick glances at each other – poor dumb Mommy – and started to giggle.

Or was it with anchovies? Sarah offered looking up to the white stucco hall ceiling as if thinking it over and realizing that perhaps she had made a mistake.

Mommy – double ech! said Bobby. Jenny started to giggle even harder and louder. She remembered this game now.

Where the hell have you been? asked an unreasonably irritated Mark harshly as he appeared suddenly before his young family. His dark eyes dared his wife to respond with anger. It’s past five thirty. The kids had abruptly stopped laughing when they had heard their father’s angry tone. They were frightened. They instinctively slid behind their mother – their protector.

Oh, and hello to you too, said Sarah coolly trying to force a smile. When he got like this, there was no way to talk with him. Why did you send Mrs. Morgan home? And why are you home? When you left early this morning, you managed to tell me not to expect you before eight tonight.

The irritable young husband snorted angrily, glared at his beautiful young wife and wheeled around quickly to retreat towards the stairs and the basement. The computer stuff he kept at home was locked in the large office he had had built for himself in the months after they had moved here. He was spending more time there than anywhere else in the house. Just make the goddam dinner and call me when it’s ready, he said over his shoulder as he started down the stairs. I want to eat by myself in my office tonight.

As he vanished down the stairs, the kids re-appeared to stand beside their mom who had just started to cry herself.

Daddy’s mad again isn’t he? asked Jenny – the adult world was not yet predictable for the youngster.

Mom just nodded, then took a deep breath. I guess he had another bad day at work. Let’s go check Scooby and start on that soapy old spaghetti.

Not soapy mom, said little Jenny as the game was back on. It’s cheesy spaghetti mommy – cheesy spaghetti.

Oh right, Sarah said with a forced smile, Anchovy spaghetti coming right up. I’ll talk with Daddy later tonight and find out what’s wrong. Where’s that Scooby – Scooby Doo?

And so it went.

Chapter 1

One Late Night – I Get A Visit

Bear barked once, paused, listened and barked again. I was sitting up straight in bed after his first loud offering. He doesn’t usually bark without cause. I listened carefully – heard nothing – figured the old guy had had a doggie nightmare – and told him to be quiet. I groaned loudly as he headed from the bedroom. The large brightly lit red digital numerals on the small clock radio beside my bed read – 2:35 – no one knocks on someone’s door out here at two thirty-five in the morning. Nicky nicky nine door players are all in bed by now – and I haven’t had one of those pranks played on me since I moved onto the farm twenty odd years ago. Bear and a six hundred foot driveway took care of that kind of nonsense. But then there was a loud knock followed by the sound of the door chime and then another rap – even louder this time. Bear re-entered the bedroom and looked at me inquisitively to see if he needed to bark again. It’s okay bub – good job. I rolled slowly out of bed and pulled my Levis over top of my boxers and pulled on a sweatshirt that was still lying where I’d dropped it on the rustic oak hardwood floor. Somebody is going to be damn sorry if this is some kind of practical joke, I vowed mentally as I made my way down the wide carpeted oak staircase to the bolted and locked front door.

Whose there? I yelled through the closed door. Bear stood eagerly waving his tail at my side. Some in-the-bag disenchanted student, who had failed one of my English classes before I retired, with a bucket of cold water or a bag of horseshit, was not going to exact revenge on me at this hour.

Riverview Police Sir, was the immediate forceful reply.

I didn’t open the door just yet. Is this Jackson’s idea of cop humor? I said irritably.

No Sir, Chief Jackson sent me out to get you, came back clearly. There has been an incident.

I told Bear to stand and opened the door quickly. The cop waiting with cap in hand was a young constable who looked as if he had been in one of my grade twelve classes only two years ago. Behind him, I could see the open door of an idling Riverview cop cruiser stopped at the foot of my short front walk.

What incident? I asked immediately thinking of my two daughters who had homes and families of their own in town.

I’m sorry Sir. It’s your daughter, Sarah. She’s been taken to Riverview General. She’s been badly assaulted and was still unconscious when I was sent to get you. They are going to have to operate. Deputy Chief Jackson asked me to come and get you rather than let you drive in. Another officer has gone to get your other daughter, Jane. She will meet us at the hospital.

While the young cop had been speaking to me, his wary eyes had not left Bear who sat beside me with his big pink tongue hanging loosely from his gaping mouth. His right hand had moved closer to his holstered pistol. A German shepherd named Bear weighing in at slightly more than one hundred and thirty pounds can have that effect – even if he was a big suck.

Just a second – I’ll be right with you, I said as I turned and ran back up the stairs as quickly as my bum left knee would permit. I got my socks on and stuffed some loose change and my wallet into the pockets of my Levis. It was still May and not all that cold, but I pulled my dark navy blue nylon Breeder’s Cup windbreaker from the closet after scuffing into my worn driving moccasins. I didn’t take time to lock the door. Bear would greet any uninvited intruders. I just jumped into the passenger seat of the idling cruiser, slammed the door and told the kid cop, who had quickly returned to his car when I left him alone with Bear, to hit it.

We pulled to an abrupt stop in the emergency ambulance area eighteen minutes later. I had not obtained any more information from the neophyte police officer as he knew nothing more than what he had already told me. I had spent most of the short speedy ride with my pounding heart in my throat wondering what could possibly have happened. Knee – don’t desert me now, I thought as I quickly thanked the surprised young cop as I jumped from the cruiser before he had fully stopped. Jane was already in the emergency waiting room area talking with Riverview’s Deputy Chief, Ken Jackson. They both stood up as I came hurrying towards them.

What the hell happened? I asked loudly as my eyes ripped back and forth between them. Jane had been crying and was still holding a damp Kleenex tissue to her face. Jackson, who was a number of years younger than me, looked older and more tired than I had ever seen him. I focused on him. I needed to get the dry version first.

At about twelve fifteen a.m., our station dispatcher got an anonymous male caller saying that a woman had been beaten. The voice claimed that the woman was unconscious at her home at 1925 Cherry Lane. The front door would be open. When the dispatcher tried to get more information from the caller, he hung up. She then put out a call to the nearest cruiser. The two cruising duty officers arrived at the address five minutes later. They verified that the woman had been assaulted and was in bad shape. They started first aid and called back to dispatch for an ambulance and hospital notification. When the female victim was identified, I got a call at my home cause your name is on my computer under the to be notified listings – we got history together – right? I was worried that you’d kill yourself in that fuckin Mustang Bullit of yours trying to get here faster than the fuckin speed of light. Sarah was unconscious and there was nothin you could do, so I sent a cop mobile unit for you and another for Jane. That’s about where we are right now.

So where is Sarah at this moment? I asked quietly. I have known Ken most of his life. He had actually worked on my farm for me when he was a teenager. He had also been a not too gifted but hard working student in one of my grade twelve English classes before going on into college and then the police force. At present, he was the deputy chief of the Riverview Police Service – the youngest officer in the history of our county to have held this position of responsibility. He has been a good friend to me for a long time. I respected him. I believe the feeling was mutual.

She’s in emergency, but for the time being, you cannot visit her?

How serious are we talking?

It’s bad, Ken said starting to stare at the hard gray and green marble type floor hospitals and public schools love to use – the easier to wipe up the vomit and blood. Preliminary diagnosis – multiple fractures including skull, contusions and lacerations and dislocation of the left shoulder. Probably internal injuries as well.

A skull fracture, I gasped processing the information he had just given me. Brain damage?

Don’t know.

What about the kids? And where is Mark? I asked suddenly curious about the whereabouts of my son-in law.

The kids are gone, Ken replied simply while raising his prematurely balding head and trying to re-establish eye contact with me – a message being sent. They weren’t at the house. Their beds had been slept in. We believe Mark took them with him when he left. Jane started to cry all over again. She knew something more about this – more than I did anyway.

Took them where with him, I demanded. I was getting pissed. Her husband of the last ten years was supposed to take care of her and her kids. That was his job. Where was he?

Ken’s message was finally received and the penny dropped. You mean he – Mark – he beat her up? And he took the kids?

Ken ran his big paw through his ever-thinning mousy brown hair. We believe that is one possibility, he answered suddenly interested in the floor again. We’re treating this as a serious incident. There may be another explanation that we haven’t come up with yet. We’ll keep you as informed as we can. I don’t want you to go off quarter cocked. No calls to Norm or anything like that. Let us do our job.

Mark – you prick – if I find out you’ve done this ... I was talking to myself.

Dad, take it easy, Jane moved towards me and rested her head on my chest as she slipped her arms around my waist.

They’re doing everything they can. She started to sob again.

Jackson suddenly found something new and very interesting down the corridor and looked away. More people in need of medical treatment were arriving, and an ambulance, with all its lights flashing, was pulling into the receiving area. Emergency attendants rushed towards the automatic doors. Another person in need of immediate medical assistance!

After a few more silent, angry, awkward minutes of standing in the emergency department’s increasingly busy waiting room, a thin, middle-aged officious nurse appeared beside us. She was obviously concerned about the effect we might have on the other patients and their friends and relatives as they waited for medical treatment. She forcefully invited us to accompany her to a quiet smaller, and more private, waiting area. No one else was present in this smaller sitting room. Jane and I sat down on an uncomfortable vinyl covered padded bench. We didn’t say much. There was nothing much to say. Each of us seemed lost in our own thinking. Finally, I realized that Ken was still with us.

You don’t have to stay Ken, I said quietly. I appreciate all that you have done. I know you will keep us informed. We’ll wait until we can talk with the emergency surgeon or resident or whatever he’s called. Thanks for all your help.

"That’s