Dust to Dust

By Keith McNair

Detective David Chandler grew up as a tough-minded streetwise kid who in later years found that life although cruel and cold was also a blessing in disguise if properly travelled. Rarely setting his heart adrift, Chandler lived on an island surrounded by an impenetrable field generated by his minds eye. However, Chandlers life and the things that gave it a sense of purpose would cause him to question his sense of right and wrong.

Denton Thorn was a young man who realized early on in life that he was born for a unique purpose. Neither pride nor the false riches the world had to offer would cause him to lose focus. Denton took his task to heart believing that the injustices of the world must be addressed and wherever possible rectified. This was his calling, this was his fate.

Finding the balance between good and evil will never go unchallenged, as one will always seek to dominate the other. For it is written that the embodiment of evil versus the physical nature of good will remain forever at war.

Two men thrust in the path of the others belief. Yet, only one can remain standing to claim the spoils of victory.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 18, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462816330

Keith McNair

Keith McNair currently resides on Long Island, New York and has been writing for over fifteen years. Mr. McNair also has a line of personalized greeting cards under the name Blaisandra Cards. Much like Mr. McNair’s previous novels, Split Decision and Fragmented Truths, Dancing in the Light was conceived, written and completed during his daily commute from Long Island to New York’s financial district.

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Copyright © 2008 by Keith McNair.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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To my wife Marcia, for her unconditional love and continued suppport—Thank you.

To Wanda, my best friend and an important part of my inner circle.

To Barry, a person who knows everyone there is to know, and a pretty good boss.

And when he had opened the fourth seal,

I heard the voice of the fourth beast say,

Come and see.

And I looked, and behold a pale horse, and his name that sat upon him was Death, and Hell followed with him.

And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

Revelations 7:7-8

The loudspeaker in the waiting area at LAX had just announced that Flight 287 was ready for passenger boarding—seats thirty-two through twenty-six were announced.

Denton Thorn got up from his seat, stretched his body and groaned loudly. He didn’t care if the noise bothered anyone within earshot, and as a matter of fact, he all but dared anyone to confront him.

He proceeded to the check-in counter where he turned his ticket over to the flight agent who appeared to be extremely bored with her job and as a result her movements seemed almost mechanical. Denton could tell by the expression on her face that her mind was a thousand miles away. Usually the person taking the passenger’s ticket would smile or say something funny or encouraging about the trip to be taken—especially if there was a parent boarding with a young child. However, this woman appeared to have all the warmth and charm of raging toothache in the middle of the night.

Upon entering the plane Denton was directed to row twenty-four, where he took the window seat. As the other passengers settled in around him, Denton took a moment to look them over. His eyes stopped when he noticed a twenty-something year old blonde woman take the aisle seat across from him. Denton couldn’t help it and immediately began to wonder if she had committed any sins recently for which she had not yet atoned. He would love to have had the opportunity to question her, but now was not the right time or the place. Besides, if she had any skeletons in her closet, what could he do about them? It was frustrating to think that he was so powerless, even if it was only for the moment. Perhaps if the opportunity presented itself later on, he would approach her in an effort to satisfy his curiosity.

After the flight attendant took a head count, ten minutes later the engines came to life and the massive airplane took to the skies. When the flight personnel came around with the refreshment cart, Denton ordered a double black on the rocks. Although it was only eleven-thirty in the morning, he needed the elixir to help him relax.

Denton eased his chair back slightly and closed his eyes. He listened to the sound of the plane’s engines, thanking his lucky stars that he was able to get a direct flight. Denton enjoyed flying and dismissed any fears by other passengers about the flight going down as their being chicken. Any reasonable person would dismiss such thoughts but a life can end by simply walking down the street. For that matter, any place in the world could be looked at as being in the wrong place at the wrong time, as the saying went. As far as he was concerned you can’t live your life in a bubble, since death and danger lurked around almost every corner waiting to strike.

As the effects of his second drink began to take affect, Denton’s mind began to shift and he thought about the family he’d left behind in Los Angeles.

Denton had spent a good portion of the weekend with them, and as it would be found, the lives of their loved ones would never be the same.

Denton was pretty sure that the former Webster family had been discovered by now. After all, he did place an anonymous call to the proper authorities before his departure to notify them of their current state.

A small laugh escaped from within as he thought about what he had done.

The plane was equipped with satellite television, so Denton tuned into the national news station. Coincidently, the lead story told of a family being found slain in their home in Trentville Estates, which was approximately ten miles outside of Los Angeles.

The female news anchor began with the story of the police finding the bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Jackson Webster, bound and gagged in their bedroom. They were nude and their throats had been slashed to the bone.

She went on to state that three fingers of Mr. Webster’s left hand were missing, and were presumed to have been removed from the premises by the perpetrator according to law enforcement officials on the scene.

The news anchor switched to the on-site correspondent covering the story.

Tom can you give us any details of what the police have found so far?

Thank you Sandy. So far the police have been unable to locate the remaining members of the Webster family, that being ten-year old Sarah and eight-year old Tyler. The reporter was standing in front a sprawling ranch set on fifteen acres of land. In the background yellow tape cordoned off the front porch, forbidding entry by unauthorized individuals. Black body bags containing the victim’s remains where being rolled away by two emergency staffers.

Sandy on an otherwise beautiful afternoon, this is a horrific scene. According to the local sheriff’s office, there hasn’t been this kind of bloodshed in one place in more than five years. Simply heartbreaking was how one neighbor described the scene.

Tom, has there been any speculation that the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Webster were the result of a kidnapping, or linked to Jackson Webster’s position as a prosecuting attorney in the District Attorney’s Office?

At this time the authorities aren’t ruling anything out, but they don’t want to begin speculating until the crime scene has been carefully and thoroughly processed. However, from what little information that I’ve been able to gather, the Webster’s have been dead for at least two full days judging by the condition of their bodies. According to what I’ve been told, the police are continuing to interview neighbors, relatives and friends but have not come up with any significant information. However, one individual has informed the authorities that the last time he actually saw Mr. Webster was on Thursday evening when he was putting out the trash.

Thank you Tom.

When the news report switched back to the studio, the anchor woman’s expression revealed one of sadness which of course she could not verbalize while being on camera in front of the viewing public. Her next words were directed toward the viewing audience.

Such a tragic turn of events, however we will keep you advised of any new developments as they occur. In other news, on Wall Street today . . .

Denton tipped his glass toward the screen in salute to himself. He was pleased that the story had gotten out and was receiving national attention as he had intended.

He switched to the business station for a few moments, before deciding on the twenty-four hour cartoon channel. Even as an adult he still loved watching cartoons. It was a part of him that he was sure he’d never out grow. Talk about being hard wired, he thought.

Denton wondered if his favorite show would air, the one starring that devilish woodpecker.

Five and a half hours later, an announcement was made that Flight 287 was on its final approach to New York’s JFK International Airport. The weather was announced at seventy-eight degrees.

Looking out of the window, Denton noticed that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky which he took as a sign that it was going to be a wonderful two weeks in the city, and he was going to take full advantage of everything it had to offer.

Even if it killed him, or anyone else for that matter.

Denton took the escalator down to the baggage claim area praying that he wouldn’t have to wait too long for his things since it was already past five o’clock. He had packed relatively light for a two week visit. The jeans he packed could be worn at least twice, and if he needed a new dress shirt, he could easily pick one up while he was out and about. The important thing right now was getting his luggage and finding a place to stay.

Moments later Denton retrieved his belongings and hailed a cab. He directed the driver to Midtown Manhattan. Denton was glad to leave the confines of the airport and the crowd behind. Standing around and waiting wasn’t something he liked to do.

Fifteen minutes later as the cab snaked its way through the Midtown Tunnel, Denton thought about his plans for the evening once he checked into his hotel room. After taking a quick shower, he’d go out and get something to eat, since it felt like he hadn’t eaten in days. The light snack that he had on the plane did nothing to curb his roaring appetite. That morning before he left for the airport, the only thing that he consumed was a bagel and a bottle of water. Not his usual breakfast of high protein and energy intake, but he was running a little behind schedule. Traffic was unusually heavy as the cab crawled along the westbound side of the Park Avenue at a steady thirty-five miles per hour. Moments later Denton noticed a strange odor assault his senses, one that he hadn’t been aware of when he first got in the cab. Turning his head in a downward direction, Denton discretely raised his right and left arms and checked his pits. It wasn’t him. He leaned forward slightly and realized that the pungent odor was coming from the driver. Hasn’t this man ever heard of deodorant Denton wondered? He swore that he’d been in public restrooms that smelled better than this guy. It wasn’t that he looked bad or had a dirty appearance. On the contrary, his clothes were clean, yet he still smelled like feces. Perhaps it wasn’t that pungent Denton conceded, but he smelled pretty damn bad.

The conversation in the cab centered on his finding a moderately priced, yet clean place to stay during his visit. He preferred something on the West Side, but decided that he wouldn’t be too picky. During the few times that he’d gone to the city as a child, the lights and sounds of Times Square always fascinated him, yet it still seemed to be the one part that required the most maintenance. That was probably due to the number of people that passed through the area from all over the world. As Denton grew older he was programmed to believe that they brought a truck load of their bad habits and their lack of sophistication with them. That kind of thinking usually came from his father, before and after he had a few drinks in him. Yet in spite of it all there was no place like it from an entertainment stand point Denton reasoned. Now that he was living on the west coast, there was enough to keep the mind and spirits occupied for a while, but being in New York always represented something special that would always pull him back from time to time. The city represented the true meaning and embodiment of a thrill a minute.

Detective David Chandler sat in the office of his commanding officer, Captain Robert McDyess discussing the duty roster for the group of new recruits that were scheduled to arrive the day after tomorrow.

Fresh meat, McDyess stated as he eyed the names on the clipboard in front of him.

Yeah don’t you love it, Chandler responded.

So who’s going to head up the class this go ’round?

The captain flipped the page. Sergeants Gloria Parker and Ralph Stevenson.

If that’s the case then those guys are in for a world of hurt. From what I hear around the station, Parker doesn’t take any shit. Certainly from newbie’s, Chandler added.

We’ve been together long enough to know that that’s not necessarily a bad thing, McDyess offered.

True, but I’d like to be a fly on her lapel when she begins to whip those poor bastards into shape.

McDyess smiled at the thought of all five-foot three inch Parker getting in the face of some two-hundred fifty pound marine looking son of a bitch and telling him the correct way things ought to be done.

What’s your impression of Sergeant Stevenson? McDyess asked.

He’s a kind of by the book type. Fair and firm at the same time, but for my money he can learn a thing or two from Parker all the way around.

At the Three-four, McDyess and Chandler were the two ranking black officers and had quite a history together. As part of the Special Crime Unit, they’d seen pretty much all of the worst things that New York City had to offer. They each referred to it as the underbelly of the Big Apple, which certainly wasn’t a good thing in spite of the visitor’s campaign that the Mayor referred to when he talked about the state of the city last week.

So what’s shaking with the Hoskins investigation? McDyess asked.

I spoke with the DA’s Office and from what he said we’ve got a pretty strong case. That is unless some bleeding-heart judge and jury decide differently, Chandler said in a sour tone.

Well as long as we’ve done our job I’m satisfied and I’ll be able to sleep at night, McDyess responded attempting to sound upbeat toward legal the system.

Chandler grunted in response.

No wonder they call it the Criminal Justice System, we arrest them and the courts turn them loose."

Com’on David, it’s not that bad. We do win one every now and then.

True, but every now and then isn’t quite good enough is it? Chandler asked. His words were part question and part statement of fact.

We’ve been at this for twenty-some years and truth be told, we’ve had more good days than bad ones, McDyess offered.

All right, I’ll give you that much, but you’d better go ahead and place that call to the DA and find out if anything has changed since the last time I was on the phone with them.

Chandler spoke in a way to indicate that experience taught him that nothing, especially when it came to lawyers remained consistent. In spite of McDyess’ optimistic attitude, he’d seen far too many cases go south due to a minor technicality or a loop-hole small enough for an ant to pass through.

Good idea. I’ll catch up with you later, McDyess said as Chandler rose from his seat and headed toward the door.

A sense of doubt and gloom followed close behind the detective to the point where he could feel the heat of their breath on his neck.

The streets of Times Square were alive with human and vehicular traffic alike and Denton felt very much a part of the scene unfolding before him. It was almost surreal in its delivery and took him back to his earlier years of living in New York. Trips to the city with his parents, the museums they visited and the many Broadway plays they’d seen. Although at the time he found it to be a bore and wished that he had seen the movie instead. Yet as he grew older and wiser, the effort the performers had to put forth night after night made him appreciate their craft all the more. However, right now there was so much going on around him that it was difficult to take everything in and process the information. There were guys selling boot-leg movies, kids having their faces painted, photographers taking pictures of tourists against the backdrop of the city’s landscape and performers of every kind on just about corner. The activity ranged from magicians to comedians who all hoped to make it big some day.

Denton remembered hearing the story about a guy who landed a spot on one of the late night variety shows after being discovered by a big time producer.

Apparently the man liked what he saw and the guy was off to the races toward fame and fortune.

After checking into the Wellington Executive Towers some two hours ago, Denton was ready to get the evening started. He walked over to Fifty-third Street and Eighth Avenue and decided look for a decent place to have dinner. He entered a steakhouse called Before the Shore, which advertised itself as the best steakhouse this side of Houston, Texas. Denton figured that with a slogan like that he couldn’t go wrong. When he entered the restaurant, Denton made sure to scan the crowd to determine if his attire was appropriate. If it was one thing that he couldn’t stand was being over or undressed for any occasion. His eyes worked over the room as he waited to be escorted to a table. Thankfully he fit right in with several of the jacketless men and the blue jeans that many of the male customer’s wore. There were quite a few men and women wearing tee shirts which came in a variety of colors, but none of them had any silly messages or advertisements on them which he considered a good thing. Tee shirts where cool and everything, but some of the ones that he had seen were better off left in the bottom of a closet or a dresser drawer, never to be exposed to the light of day.

Denton was finally greeted by a smallish man sporting a white button down shirt, black bow tie and a black vest who smiled as he approached.

Dinner for one? he asked with an Italian accent.

I’m flying solo to night, Denton responded. But that just might change he said to himself.

The man escorted Denton to the left side of the restaurant where there were a number of empty tables and booths available.

Would you like to sit at a table or a booth this evening? he asked.

I think that I’ll take that booth over there, Denton responded as he pointed to the row of booths closest to the window. It was important to him that he had full viewing access to the show taking place outdoors.

After being seated had having a chance to look over the menu, Denton decided that he would have a glass of wine to start the night off.

While he waited for his drink to arrive, Denton took the opportunity to look over the crowd once again. He strained to hear the conversations going on around him which ranged from plans for the evening to past experiences. He made eye contact with two women sitting together. They returned his smile and tipped their glasses in his direction. On a scale of one to ten, ten being the best, they rated about an eight. A nasty habit he confessed, but rating women on their looks was something that he’d always done, while getting to know them on an intellectual level was a secondary concern at best.

Denton figured that it would take anywhere from ten to twenty minutes before his meal arrived, so he began to map out his plans for the first couple of days. Denton believed that he was put on this earth for a purpose and it was his destiny to live up to the duties bestowed upon him.

It was said that the instrument of truth and righteousness would come in the form of a flaming sword, and the man that wielded the weapon shall act with the power of the Almighty.

Denton truly believed he was that man.

Based on his upbringing in the church and hearing the minister speak to the masses, he truly took those words to heart. Perhaps others in the congregation simply considered the message as words, but he knew better. It seemed that the words of truth were directed at him to hear and more importantly to act upon without hesitation. Denton believed that from the moment of their birth, each and every person in this world was born for a specific purpose in life, and it was up to them to carry out that task or they would be held accountable in the end. Denton swore that he would not let the opportunity and his reward pass by in not completing the task laid out for him.

His was the calling of purging the world of those who have sinned and decidedly failed to recognize their faults before the eyes of the exalted one.

Be it man or woman, each and everyone had to be judged and held accountable for their sinful lives. Justice must be served, and if the system couldn’t provide it than it was up to him to act for those that had been wronged. Denton swore that he would become the voice of those who lost faith in man’s system and those who believed that they were cheated out of their measure of justice.

Denton came to realize that the people who had judged him in the past, those in the court of man, were truly unworthy. They simply didn’t understand that he was called upon by a higher power and nothing they did to him would delay his mission in life.

As his thoughts turned to the past, Denton reflected on the five years that he’d spend in confinement and being labeled as a social deviant. Those were the words that the prosecuting attorney used to describe him. He was referred to as an individual who would never learn to live among his peers, and a personality that could never be rehabilitated. However, in his mind rehabilitation was not necessary. He’d spent so much time living through deplorable conditions, as far as he was concerned, it wasn’t about being superior to anyone or believing that those around him weren’t worth saving, it was all about his finding his way back into society’s mainstream and making a change for the betterment of human kind.

Denton knew that he was right in his actions and calling on those individuals to face their judgment was simply a matter of right versus wrong. It all seemed so clear and simple to him. It was a simple fact as was his belief, that although he dreamed of angels, he lived among demons.

Denton couldn’t contain the smile that appeared on his face at the thought of what he’d accomplished. There where those who believed that the lives he had purged from this world based on their misdeeds were victims, but that was so far from the truth it was painful. He couldn’t understand why the world failed to see that what he was trying to accomplish was the right thing to do for the sake of everyone involved.

However, it didn’t matter now. He was free to continue his work, or his true calling as it were. The only thing left to do now was in obtaining a new instrument of righteousness. It had to be suitable and appropriately blessed before he could begin to carry out his task. Denton decided that tomorrow he’d venture out and