Save the Child

By Jimmy Craig Porter

The Worthy’s son, home from his medical internship earlier than expected, is confronted by a stranger in their family home, and he will not return to complete his medical studies. Jane Worthy, founder of “Save the Child,” an anti-abortion organization, will never be able to refer to her son as a doctor, and John Worthy will never hunt or fish with his son again. A series of unexpected events leads the murderer to the Worthy’s house after the funeral of their son. Acknowledging his guilt, he drops a bombshell on the family that leaves the Worthy reeling! Questioning everything that they have stood for over the years, his claims, threaten the entire "Save the Child" organization. Is it true? Did Mrs. Worthy help save the life of the man who murdered her son? Did she really stop a woman from aborting her child so he could kill hers? Find out in this thrilling novel "Save the Child."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Progressive Rising Phoenix Press, LLC
• Release date: Nov 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781946329844

Jimmy Craig Porter

The late Jimmy Porter was a West Texas native. He spent his life living in Midland, Texas, and he worked as a building contractor, custom painter, and oil & gas operator. Jimmy's lifelong passion for writing began in 1974 when one of his earliest writings was published in a book of short stories. He was the youngest of the book's authors. Jimmy's wife Margaret completed her husband's dream of having "Save the Child" published.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The house went dark, except for the porch light, which spread a yellowish glow, not much exposure, just an indication of minimum visibility. The garage door, one of two, opened, releasing a black Lincoln sedan from its possession. The night before Christmas was frigid, a west Texas cold, no snow for now, but a hint of moisture that clung to your face and hands, promising more in the near future. The ever-present wind pushed the dampness straight to the bones.

Joe Cooper, dressed in dark clothing, although nothing so disguised as to make him stand out, watched the black Lincoln sedan move slowly down the road known as Sparta Court, a small cul-de-sac in the older part of Lindville. He had left his old Dodge pickup parked in front of a church around the corner. Then, as if taking a walk to visit a neighbor, he had strolled to the far end of the road and blended in with the large pine trees to watch Dr. and Mrs. John Worthy pull out for some last-minute holiday shopping. They were expecting their son Jeff, a medical intern from Austin, later that evening. Joe knew these things because he was roofing their house; Jane Worthy, a prominent volunteer and a leader of the pro-life movement, was very free with her conversation. She valued her own opinion greatly, and with an attentive ear such as Joe’s, he could discover all types of information. He had been cordial and very neat around her house and she seemed to like him. Joe was an attractive young man in his mid-thirties, a few years older than her son.

Joe checked his latex gloves, which were quite cold on his bare hands. He easily moved from the trees to the side entrance of the garage. The door opened with only a mild display of force. It was lightweight and virtually useless against intruders. From there, Joe found, as he fully expected, the door to the house unlocked. He had helped Jane Worthy with some packages after she had been shopping earlier that day. The door had been unlocked then. People in a hurry often made silly mistakes, sometimes costly. Joe had hoped this was one of those times. After all, it was Christmas, and he deserved a few gifts.

Joe walked through the utility room, turning on a light in the kitchen as he headed for the living room. He stopped and peered into the room. There was a glow of lights and decorations from a large tree in front of the window for the whole world to admire. Gifts surrounded the tree, more gifts than he had ever seen, and they were all his. He pulled the drapes and sat in front of the tree. The feeling was a new one for him. He remembered a red fire truck and a small tree from his childhood, although nothing as extraordinary as this tree, his new tree. He remembered a white-haired woman making candy and waiting for someone: his grandmother waiting for his mother.

He opened a gift marked for Jeff and found a sweater, too preppy for his taste. Still, he thought, I might wear it to a nice bar, one that catered to people who wore this type of clothing. He would think about it.

One box was long and contained a shotgun. The tag read, To my son, from Dad. He definitely would keep that. Maybe trade it for an older model. He opened a few more that were intended for Jeff, but nothing he really wanted, mostly just books and clothes. Then he began to open the mother’s gifts: a negligee, some perfume, a necklace, some silverware, and something for the kitchen—or at least that was what it looked like. He thought of Pam, a bartender he had been with the last two nights. Maybe he would give her something, perhaps the necklace. No, he would give her the perfume. He could sell the necklace.

He stood and walked to the fireplace, where the stockings were hanging. He looked inside Jeff’s. There was a watch, which he put on his wrist, a Rolex. It felt good and made him feel important. It appeared to have the correct time and date. He was glad. He walked by a kitchen apparatus, a food processor. This was one gift that Mom would not get to enjoy. He lifted his foot and smashed the processor, making a loud noise.

Mom, Dad, is that you? A voice came from a room down the hall.

Joe Cooper reached for his gun, a .38, from under his shirt. He wondered who was interrupting his Christmas celebration. He forced his body against the wall, gun cocked and ready to defend himself from the intruder who so rudely interrupted his Christmas. It would seem that Jeff had come home earlier than expected.

A light came on. Why are you home so soon? I hope you weren’t worried about me! As the voice turned the corner, Jeff came face-to-face with a man near his own age, wearing a watch that he would never see, much less wear.

They weren’t, came the answer, followed by two quick shots to the head that prevented further conversation and ended Jeff’s life. The force of the shots threw his body against the living room wall, across from the beautiful Christmas tree.

Joe walked over and looked at the body. It was a mess and he turned away, somewhat amazed that he could have committed such an act. Yet, it had seemed so easy. He almost felt remorseful, until he realized how loud the shots were. He had never thought of a silencer; but then, he had never anticipated such a thing would actually happen. He wanted to recreate it in his mind, but now the neighbors would be calling the cops. He walked back to the tree and picked up his newly acquired gifts. He had wanted to look around for money and things of value, but Jeff had ruined his plans. He quickly made his exit through the garage and down the street to his pickup. It started to snow heavily as he drove away, wondering where to go. Perhaps he would go to Pam’s and give her the perfume. He smiled at the thought of giving her a gift. It had been a long time since he had given someone a gift. Then suddenly, a forgotten thought changed his mood. He was broke. He had spent all his paycheck and had counted on scoring several hundred dollars on this job.

Immediately, he was angry. He wanted to turn the truck around, go back, and shoot the man all over again for messing up his plans. Maybe Pam would loan him twenty dollars after he gave her the perfume. He headed the Dodge across town, by way of the loop. Traffic was minimal because of the holidays.

With a sudden urge to relieve himself, he pulled into a convenience store. He rushed to the door; it was locked. Damn it, I need to piss! He looked around for a place to urinate. He saw a liquor store with a flashing OPEN sign on the next corner. He felt inside his jacket and thought he just might have to do a little business while he was there, but first things first. In spite of the large flashing sign, there seemed to be only one car in the parking area and no one but the clerk in the store.

Hey, man, where’s your bathroom? The young Hispanic clerk pointed to the back. Joe went into the men’s room. After relieving himself, he splashed water on his flushed face. Life, as he knew it, was completely altered. He composed himself. He glanced at his reflection; it smiled back at him.

Just as he exited the men’s room, he heard a loud, raspy voice, yelling at the nervous clerk. He stepped back and peered around the corner. A black man was holding a small revolver in front of the clerk, who was busy stuffing money in a brown bag. Joe pulled out his .38 and walked, duck like, down the aisle until the clerk turned and looked at him. The black man turned his head toward Joe, just as Joe pulled the trigger. The clerk watched the man’s head explode, blood splattering on his face. He turned with his hands still up, unsure what was happening.

His savior stood and fired directly into his already stained face. Before he had an answer, he was dead too. The back of his head dripped across pint bottles of liquor and red and green Christmas lights that hung, looped, on the shelves behind the counter.

The young white male, who had killed three men within the realm of thirty minutes, casually walked to the counter and opened the brown bag. He counted two hundred dollars and smiled. He wouldn’t have to borrow from Pam after all. He hated borrowing money. As he walked out the door, he stopped and picked up a fifth of vodka. The black man’s car was parked right beside his truck. Just as he reached his truck, a police officer drove by. His stomach went up in his throat. He froze, his mind racing. The patrol car continued on, but the young murderer was sure his truck had been spotted. He would have to do something or else he could be linked to all this. That would be just his luck. But things were changing. He was in charge now. He looked at his newly acquired watch. He felt confident. Then an idea flashed. Joe raced back into the liquor store and laid the .38 on the counter. He regloved himself. Next, he returned the money to the brown bag, picked up the black man’s weapon and rushed back to his truck. He stuffed the gun under the seat between the springs. He saw the shotgun and knew what he must do. He took the shotgun and necklace from the seat. The perfume went into the glove compartment. He had to keep that for Pam. He then took the shotgun and necklace to the car that was next to his and tossed them in the back seat. Next, he took off the gloves, wadded them up, and tossed them onto the flat roof of the liquor store.

He went back inside, called 911, and gave them his name, Joe Cooper. He then put on a new face. He was ready for the cops now. In fact, he wanted them. He rushed to the road, waving at the patrol car responding to the 911 call.

Officer, come quick! he yelled. He ran to the road, stopping the patrol car, trying to open the door.

The officer quickly grabbed his weapon, unsure who this frantic person was. Back off, put your hands up, and don’t move! he yelled as he jumped out of his vehicle.

But I’m the one who called. Come inside and I’ll show you, he said.

Okay, but I am going to pat you down first.

I didn’t do anything! It was the black guy; I tried to stop him.

The young officer patted him down and said, All right, let’s go in. He motioned for Joe to lead.

Good God, man, what the hell happened here?

He was young, but even the most veteran cops had not seen anything this ugly, especially in this city. Then he realized there were two bodies.

Did you see who did this? asked the officer.

Yes, it was him. Joe pointed to the dead black man.

Then who killed him? The officer was confused.

I did. He dropped his gun, and I grabbed it and shot him. I had to, or he would have blown me away too!

Don’t touch anything. Did you call for help?

Yeah, I thought that was you.

No, I was just passing by.

Another patrol car arrived at the scene.

That must be him, the officer said, moving toward the door and shouting to his colleague. You won’t believe this, Tom. I’ve never seen anything like it.

The new officer, much older, was just as astonished.

The young murderer felt important. He touched his watch and panicked. Although no one knew it wasn’t his, he could not show anything that would raise suspicion.

Who is he? asked the older officer.

He killed the black guy, the younger officer started to explain.

Wait, have you called for an ambulance?

No, and I’ll call homicide, too, he answered as he moved toward the phone. They’ll love this on Christmas Eve.

The older cop asked, What’s your name, son?

Joe Cooper, sir.

Tell me what happened.

I was in the men’s room. When I came out, I saw what was happening and crawled alongside the display case. When he shot the clerk, I froze. As he reached across the counter, his gun fell and bounced down the aisle. I grabbed it and pulled the trigger. I wanted to jump him before he shot Juan, but I was too late.

So you knew the clerk? Tom asked.

Yeah. Joe thought a minute. Just from coming in here.

Then you don’t know his family?

No, sorry, Joe shook his head as if in sympathy. Sorry.

The patrol officer looked at his fellow officer, still on the phone. Mark, look for the number of the owner.

He looked back at Joe. Mr. Cooper, I’m going to ask you to stand back out of the way and not touch anything. Detectives will be here in a few minutes and they will want to talk to you.

Joe Cooper walked to the beer cooler, wishing he could have one. He sat on the tile floor and leaned against the door. He would probably be kept there for hours answering questions. Pam would probably go home with another guy. If she did, he would just give the perfume to someone else. He wished now that he would have just left, but it was too late for that. He tried not to think of Pam. She was just a whore, anyway.

Ten minutes later, the detectives arrived, along with ambulances, fire trucks, and more patrol officers. Joe was irritated with the entire situation. He wished they would hurry. Finally, the owners came, then the coroner.

They removed the bodies and the detectives motioned for Joe. They asked him to show them everything that had happened, from the time he arrived. He showed where he had crawled alongside the displays and how he shot the suspect. Of course, he failed to mention how he shot the clerk and other such information. Instead, he expressed shock at seeing his friend, Juan, murdered in front of him.

Mr. Cooper, because you were involved with the actual shooting of the alleged criminal, the District Attorney’s office will want to question you. You’ll need to go downtown with us.

I’m being arrested for killing this creep?

No, sir. Just for routine questioning. But you might wish to have a lawyer present, he added.

A lawyer? I don’t need a lawyer, I didn’t do anything! he shouted.

We’re not saying you did, but there are certain legal procedures that have to be followed. We’ll just take a statement. It won’t take long.

I hope not. I’m pretty tired. Well, these things don’t happen every day. Can I just follow you in my truck? I definitely don’t want to leave it here all night.

That will be fine.

Joe Cooper walked to his truck and followed the officers to the station. This was such a bore. He looked at his watch: 10:30. He still had time. He stuffed the watch under the seat.

CHAPTER 2

Rick Hopkins forced himself through the driving snow. He had a job to do. There had been a murder and he was a homicide detective. He put aside thoughts of his wife and two sons, sitting around the Christmas tree, in the warmth of home fires. He made the transformation complete as he pushed his way through the police barricade and reporters.

Lindville was a mid-sized city and had its share of crime, but not usually of such a violent nature and certainly not on the affluent side of town. He was curious as to why. An officer escorted him into the house, reporting what he knew.

White male, thirty, two shots to the head. Apparently, he had come home for Christmas. His parents were out shopping. They returned and found him in the living room. Pretty messy, Sarge.

Where are the parents now?

Next door.

Let me take a look here, and then we’ll go next door.

Hopkins walked over to the body. He looked at it because he had to. He tried to detect some clue to give meaning to the scene. His emotional self cried out, while his logical, trained mind told him it was a robbery gone sour and murder was the result. He looked over the scene, which further convinced him of his first impression. Some things were gone, but to what extent only the family could confirm. That would take a few days in their condition. He knew the Worthys, especially John. His heart went out to them.

Everybody was doing their job, which released Hopkins of momentary responsibility. He called for