A Kind of Justice

By Dr. Thomas Murray

About the Book
A Kind of Justice tells the story of a financial manager who moonlights as a hired assassin by night. We enter the story as our protagonist decides to take revenge on the man who murdered an entire family, leaving only one woman alive, albeit alone and utterly traumatized. A Kind of Justice tells of a soul tortured by his religious, ethical, and moral upbringing. A man trying his best to navigate the river of life; balancing his individual needs against his families, his wife, strangers that ask for his assistance and a society that would convict him of murder and send him to prison if he makes just one mistake along the way and is discovered.

About the Author
Dr. Thomas Murray is a retired U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel and minister who has a Ph.D. in Theology. He and his wife Dawn have five children. They currently reside in North Carolina.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Mar 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887299402

Book preview

PART ONE

A Beginning Reflection

What is justice? That is a question that I have also asked myself. I hear it asked by my friends, family members, the press, and during every tragedy. Is there an answer? And who am I to ask such a question?

Well, I am five feet, ten inches tall. I weigh one hundred sixty-five pounds. I have brown hair, hazel eyes and I am told a nice smile, when I do smile. I am married and have two grown children. I am in decent shape; you will learn more about that as you read. I am not intimidating whatsoever, unless my angst is up and then everyone says the hate in my eyes is enough to stop the most aggressive person. I am deceptively strong and if I can get a hold of you, I have a vice-grip, you are not going to break my hold on you.  Typically, when anyone looks at me, they underestimate my abilities which in never a good idea. That has always worked to my advantage.

Most people who have known me or know me now say that I am heartless. By way of explanation, they mean that I am uncompassionate, a person with no empathy shown to others during the worst tragedy. When it comes to dispensing discipline, I am cold and calculating. If I and another are having conflict at any level, you can count on me ignoring you in painful ways and that extends to even my family members.

I am a realist in so many ways and pragmatic in my approach to life. I am not moved, as my spouse is by nostalgic shows that bring so many to tears, as they ignore the realities of real life, and then easily and flippantly turn the channel when there is a scene of starving refugees in the Sudan which they cannot bear to see.

I have no patience with the bureaucrats that run our county, nor their overburdened approaches to solving what they might call a crisis which simply put are events that repeat themselves cyclically over the centuries; like the Covid pandemic for example. Whether you got vaccinated or not is none of my business, as I have no issues with thousands dying of the virus, as I believe that nature should run its course. I believe that we human beings are too damn smart for our own good, so let nature decide who should live or die and if I am one of them, so be it. Darwin’s survival of the fittest is all right with me.

In a sense that is justice. I say that because in western wealthy culture we were able to mitigate the damage the virus caused, while those living in less wealthier parts of the world did not have, and have not had, access to an advanced medical system that allows us to extend the lives of so many that seriously, should just go away. In my world view, justice would be putting us all on the same level playing field and let the chips fall where they may.

Just like a review of how our society pays different people for what they do for us provides us insight into how many of us view justice. Where is the justice in paying a sports figure millions of dollars because they can bounce or throw a ball better than most, while a plumber who keeps our water system going scratches out a living, or the schoolteacher in a small rural community burdened with teaching farm children to read and write barely makes a salary to house his or her own family?

Justice is such a strange concept. It was human justice that declared in the form of Pontius Pilate that Jesus had done nothing wrong, but then had him scourged and crucified, because it was politically expedient. It is human justice that allows us to find O.J. Simpson not guilty for murder and yet allowed the four men who attacked Reginald Denny to get off with basically a hand slap as they dragged him from his truck and brutally beat him. And when you look at the reaction of both the black and white population you might understand a bit more that human justice is not driven by justice, but by our best interests or at least what we conceive as our best interests.

This story is about justice. Justice as I understand it and do all I can to ensure it takes place. You may not like this understanding of justice, but then, I am not a particular fan of the justice I see most in our society supporting.  And frankly, I don’t care if you do not understand, because that is exactly who I am and how I act from day to day.  So, live with it and you might learn something.

Chapter One

Birth

I was born on Friday, the second day of a month in the summer.  Which month and year are not that important, but since my mother had a terrible pregnancy, having to deal with hives the entire nine months she carried me in her womb, suffice it to say that from the beginning my mother and I did not get along very well!  When she saw a frail child born to her it prompted her the very next day, since my parents were Roman Catholic, to have a priest come and baptize me if I didn’t survive.  Throughout my entire life whenever I broke out in hives, my mother would as well which only exacerbated our relationship.

Had I been born in ancient Sparta I would have been thrown off a cliff, or in the Highlands of Scotland, left to die, but in modern America such things are unheard of, and families deal with all the repercussions of the new-born infant despite any medical problems that have come along. So, after a few days I was brought home and that started my childhood.

My family had strong Irish-Catholic roots the emphasis on being Irish of course and all that comes with that specific ethnic group.  My father would visit the corner tavern, that is what bars were called back then, and throw back a few, and by a few, I mean come home rip-roaring drunk after a long day’s work as a Longshoreman.  He and his two best friends were, later I would discover, alcoholics, strong and violent men who were the very definition of male chauvinism and they were proud of it.  When I got older and I mean around eight years old, my brothers and I often would go down to that tavern and my dad and his friends would order us small beers since again, back then, especially in predominant Irish neighborhoods, no one cared to say anything about that and in fact other children, boys, and girls, were often there.

My parents had me baptized on Saturday and on Sunday, two days after I was born, my mother took me to the hospital chapel where she attended mass and that began my journey into the Christian faith.  My parents were not what one would call faithful Catholics.  They were superstitious enough to believe that God would watch over their child if they took him to church.  And in fact, my parents ensure that I never missed a Catholic Mass while I lived in their home until my eighteenth birthday.  And during my adult life I have only missed Sunday worship six times and each time it was either because I was in a hospital bed or on an airplane at the invitation of the U.S. Government.

That of course shaped my life in ways that is hard to explain in great detail, but suffice it to say that belief in God; a sense of what is morally right and wrong; what guilt would look like in my life; and how justice should be dealt in a society where injustice at all levels seems to exist to protect some of the most indecent and evil personalities in our communities; all contributed to the path that I decided to take and have been on for as long as I can remember.

Chapter Two

Law Enforcement

My first encounter with the law, outside the normal wave at a police vehicle, or hello to an officer standing on the street corner, happened in my junior year in high school.  The incident is as clear as day to me now.  I had left my home to walk the one mile to school.  That is not an exaggeration or a story I tell to get sympathy.  We all walked to school, and we often did it by grades for that is where all our friendships were.  On this morning we stop in one of those breakfast diners that sat on street corners that do not exist anymore, having been replaced by Starbucks and other fast-food places.   My friends and I had thirty minutes to be in homeroom on time.  We were but a block from school, so we went in and placed our order.   I had hot tea and a buttered roll in front of me when two police officers walked in and said very loudly, All you students get out and get to school!

I sat there with half the roll on my plate and the hot tea in my cup.  All my friends and my older brother got up and headed for the door, each leaving their payment on the counter.  But I sat there; school did not start for another twenty-five minutes.  I did not have to leave.   One of the police officers walked up to me and whispered in my ears, If you don’t get up right now, I will shove that fucking roll down your throat.  He then grabbed me, shoved me into their cruiser and took me to a police station, but not in the township where I lived.  My brother and my friends watched as they drove away.

Once at the police headquarters it was not long until another police office walked up to me and asked me my name.   And here is where my stubbornness really came into play.   I did not reply at all.   I just looked at him and then put my head down.   They eventually got a truant officer to visit me and by then I was resolute that I was not going to say one word.  I had not done anything wrong, and even now I still had two minutes before one could say I was not on time for school.  In fact, had the police not grabbed me and taken me away more than likely I would have been sitting in homeroom right behind Eileen whom I adored.  The Truant Officer asked me my name and I only shook my head signifying no! At that age I was not currently very familiar with my rights under the Constitution.  Rather I was being a stubborn prick.

By ten o’clock it became apparent that they really were not sure what to do with me.   The officer that brought me in was in a quandary and I could overhear the conversation about the why I was sitting there.   A man that appeared to be his supervisor did not look happy and he eventually came over and said to me, Look, son, if you would tell me your name, I will contact your parents.  I replied, I am not your son!  You could see the frustration in his facial expression, and I watched it build for the rest of the day.

At about four-thirty that afternoon my father showed up.  He did not look pleased, and I watched as he approached the desk where he identified himself and stated he was looking for    his son.   The Desk Sergeant escorted my father down a hallway and about ten minutes later he, and two other policemen and the Truant Officer approached me.  I smiled at my father, and he asked me how I was.  Just fine, I said.

My father spoke with those law enforcement officials for a few more minutes and I could tell that he was unhappy with them and what they had done.  Other parents had also found out what had happened that morning with their children and complained but unfortunately, they were filing complaints with a police department that was not aware of the situation.  Nonetheless when my father got into our beat-up old car, he back handed me and told me to wise up!   The back hand smack hurt, but I still managed to say, I did not have to talk to them!  I did nothing wrong so go back hand them instead of me.  He did not—he gave me another back hand to the side of my face.

As I grew older, I learned that the lesson of that day was one I would never forget.   Keeping your mouth shut while in custody is not only a good thing, but also your right! Time after time I have watched or read about individuals who get apprehended by law enforcement and before you know it, they have said something that leads to their arrest, conviction, and incarceration all because of self-incrimination.  I was correct in keeping my mouth shut, it made their life difficult and as I left the police station that day, they still did not know anything but my name.

Let’s fast forward about forty-five years.   There is a knock at my door and there are two men dressed in sport coats and a tie and it is obvious that they are detectives from a police department.   I open the door and say, Can I help you?   Right next to me is Chaos, my four-year-old black male Doberman pincher who snarls as he has been taught to do whenever any stranger comes to our doors.

Can we come in? one of them asks.  

No! How can I help you?  

Well, we are investigating a murder and we were hoping we could ask you some questions, said the other man, now flashing a police detective’s badge.

I have nothing to say to you, I replied. And if you want to talk to me, contact my attorney.  I then shut the door.  I watched them return to their vehicle.

***********

Three hours later the two detectives were back at the door.  I was fully dressed this time so once the door was opened, I stepped outside, motioning to Chaos my Doberman to stay.   I again inquired as to how I could assist them, but this time they had a formal request that I go down to the police station for an interview.  I responded by saying sure and asked if they minded if I got my car keys.  They said no and so into the house I went where I met my wife of nineteen years.   She had a grave concerned look on her face and it was coupled with confusion.   What is going on? she asked.

Oh, nothing very serious, Sweet Pea! I responded.

Should I follow you, honey? she continued.

Nah, I replied.  This should not take long.  I grabbed my keys and then stepped outside.   The detectives were gone.  I smiled to myself and went back into the house.  I knew they would be back.  This was just an old trick.  They depart to see which police station you will go to and if you go to theirs, they know they have a suspect.   I headed to work.  

About forty minutes later my wife called and said that the two men had returned, and she gave them directions to my office. When they arrived, they asked me why I had not gone to the police station.  I told them I did not know where to go and since they left my assumption was that they had received another call more important than talking to me.   The older detective glared at me and said, Follow us.   Of course, I did, after I contacted my attorney who said he would meet me there and reminded me not to answer any questions unless he was present.

***********

All this to say that whenever anyone has an encounter with law enforcement you should remember just a few things.  The first is probably the most important.  They are not your friends.  They will do everything they need to do to get you to talk to them. They will ask you the most innocuous questions.  They will ask you to sign forms and even admit things that you should never even acknowledge because somewhere along the way, while you are drinking that cup of coffee or smoking that cigarette despite the no smoking sign, they will have convinced you that they are your friend, and they want to help.

But they are not your friend.  So, you say your name and tell them first and foremost that you want to discuss this situation with an attorney.   You do not give them permission to enter your home, or to search anything if they ask.   If they have a warrant, you do not resist you call an attorney, but never, like a vampire, let them into your house, vehicles, or any other property just because they ask.  You have rights and you must exercise them as I did so long ago in high school despite the angst it caused them, my parents and of course the ass beating I got later that night.

I tell you all this because if you are being questioned by law enforcement you truly are in a no-win situation.  If you remain calm and cool and ask for your attorney, they will inevitably conclude you are hiding something.  If you get emotional, you are overreacting and hence perhaps are guilty.  So, sit there quietly and wait for an attorney.  Do not drink anything that may leave your DNA behind, and if you do, take the cup, napkin, straw or whatever you might think is garbage, with you and take it to your home and burn it there.

Chapter Three

Two Years Old

For as long as I can remember my parents were adamant about the story I am about to share and as this larger story unfolds you will understand why this short tale is so incredibly important.

As it goes, I was one of those children that just could not seem to sleep through the night and in fact sometime around three o’clock in the mornings I would awaken and begin to cry.  My parents would often take turns trying to get me to get to sleep.  Currently there were two other small children in the house: an older brother who was eighteen months older than I was and a brother who was eleven months younger.  My parents were doing their best to ensure they would sleep through the night and had hopes that I would also fall back to sleep.

However, that was never the case.  It did not matter what they did: change the diaper; rock me and even give me a bottle I would cry and that of course frustrated the living shit out of them.  On one winter morning, I was more animated than ever and so my father put me in a high-chair and put a bowl of Cheerios in front of me.  It was his belief that I would eat the Cheerios and fall back to sleep.  

Around four thirty in the morning, ninety minutes after he had left the bedroom, my mother came out to see how things were going.   My father was sitting at the kitchen table with his head lying on his arms asleep on the tabletop and I was sitting there in the baby chair, smiling, and playing with my food.

My mother would tell me later that this was the first indicator of my tenacious and stubborn personality which would of course chart my life’s journey.  These two virtues, which is what I call them, would provide the foundation of my steadfast moral and ethical convictions along with the drive to win in every endeavor I entered no matter what it cost me in terms of personal pain, agony and loss of friends and family members.

These traits which were at times admired by some in very dangerous and risky situations were also held in derision by others when things were going smoothly, and I would refuse to budge in what many would think was an insignificant issue.

These two traits are what allow me to do what I do in terms of how I think justice, rightly or wrongly in other’s eyes, is to be dealt out when I come to the belief that something should be done to right the wrong when our world and justice system so easily acquiesces through legal ramblings and compromise and when one of the least of these my brethren are left holding the bag and their lives are ruined.

Chapter Four

The Conversation

I do not consider myself a bad person, but no one ever does.  I work eight to ten hours a day.  I take care of my family.  I am a friendly neighbor and participate in a community watch program.  I attend a specific church regularly, though from time to time I visit other churches in the area for a change of voice and perspective.  The minister of the church I attend recognizes my family and greets us by name.  I am charitable and not just for tax purposes.   I know that I have been successful and believe that success should be shared especially with those whose life is much tougher than mine.

On the other hand, I do have a mean streak.  I do not like people exploiting others, and except for the contracts that I take, I try not to break the law, thought at times circumstances and my personality often may lead to an event that not only breaks the law, but does so in a most heinous way.  I even go out of my way not to speed on the road, though I will slow down when some butthead is tailgating me with the sole intent of making them angry and then speed up to exacerbate the situation.  I do not run stop signs; I do not shop lift or steal.  But when I see or hear about someone being exploited deep within me arise strong emotions to correct the wrong.  This