3:16
By Jeffrey Martin
Published by Cold Moon Press, Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2010 by Jeffrey Martin
ISBN: 978-0-578-07039-1
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 person. 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.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblances to people (living or dead), events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
* * *
Dedication
Sometimes a man can meet his destiny on the road he traveled to avoid it. These words have great meaning to me as I embark on the next installment to this writing journey. I spent my young adult life blinded about what God had in store for me and have come to realize each of us has a gift to share with this world…and I thank him for the ability to create stories which pique the interests of readers.
So without further ado, I thank Lisa, my wife and safe haven from the trials and tribulations we encounter on a daily basis. Thanks to Katie, Kelley (my #1 Southern fan), Rick, Jen, Kenny, Connie, Lorry, Nurse K, Lisa, and all of my Facebook and MySpace fellow authors and friends. I appreciate your devotion to my vision.
* * *
Prologue
Brandon Thornley unzipped his jacket and removed the GPS device. Following the frost-covered trail, he reached the wooded sanctuary that was home to the tools of his real trade. He thought he could give it up and live the life of an honest man, but the hunger for killing was too strong and couldn’t be masked any longer. He forced himself through the dense tree branches, barely feeling their backlash on his exposed face and neck. A few steps further, he stopped in front of a large pine tree. The computer-generated voice from the GPS, which indicated he had reached his destination, startled him.
Wonderful…nobody had found my hiding place. Brandon dropped down to one knee and used both his hands to dig away the earth hiding his prized possessions. Ah, there you are. Reaching into the exposed hole, he pulled out a medium-sized brown leather pouch. His pulse quickened as he fumbled with the clasp. Easy…you’ve got this. Taking a few deep breaths, he slowly opened the pouch, reached inside, and pulled out several cloth-wrapped items. He unrolled the first, and the most beautiful double-edged blade he had ever set eyes on glistened in his grasp. Brandon repeatedly ran his fingers along the knife’s length, worshipping the texture and the craftsmanship of the weapon. All the other knives in the pouch were equally exquisite, and all were very capable of carrying out what he needed done, but Brandon had a special place in his heart for this one. Sort of like a good friend coming back into my life, he thought.
He looked down at his watch and knew he would be pressed for time. Carina would be planning a late evening dinner, and she would expect him soon. Placing everything back into the pouch, he carefully refilled the manmade hole.
Brandon scurried back to the late model Mercedes, unlocking it. His cell phone was on the travel charger, and he snatched it up, preparing to call his wife. The red notification light blinked. Hmm, looks like a message. His finger flicked across the touch screen, and he realized it wasn’t a message, but it was something interesting.
Brandon had recently joined a social networking site in hopes of reconnecting with old friends. The site had the option to add the application to his cell phone, which he had done almost instantly. The red light indicated someone wanted to add him to his or her friends’ list. He opened the request and noticed the person wanting to be a part of his networking world was someone named Cassie Youngblood. There was a profile picture of the young redhead, and Brandon thought he noticed something else. He moved his finger in a downward motion and smiled when he wasn’t mistaken in what he had seen. Cassie Youngblood was a local girl who lived very close to Brandon; unfortunately for her, it would be too close.
Perfect timing, he thought. Brandon pulled the Mercedes onto the street, considering all the potential victims the social networking arena could bring…
Chapter One
Brandon grasped the stainless steel blade, prepared to carry out his deadly agenda. The red-haired Cassie Youngblood was only a few yards from him. Brandon was astonished how beautiful she was in person, compared to her profile on the Konnect2u web site. Her figure was accentuated by the tight, dark blue sweater and the off white capris. She was sitting at a picnic table with several textbooks spread out in front of her and appeared to be using that as a front for the real focus of her attention. It appeared to be a copy of EyeSpot, the latest tabloid magazine.
Brandon lifted his pant leg and tucked the knife back into its sheath. He smoothed his graying hair and straightened the charcoal suit. Satisfied with his appearance, he stepped out from behind the long row of eccentric sculptures.
“Hello, Ms. Youngblood.” Brandon could tell he startled her.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Thornley. I was just studying.” Cassie smiled as she slid the magazine inside her backpack. “Thank you for coming. I really enjoyed your blog about corporate security and violence in the workplace.”
“Ms. Youngblood, now you’re just lying to me.” Brandon laughed.
“No, I’m really serious about this career path. That’s why I e-mailed you to meet me today. It would be cool to learn some pointers from you.”
Brandon took a seat across from the girl and glanced at the books on the table. “Well, if that’s the case, I have something special in mind…if you are interested.”
Cassie Youngblood wasn’t a naïve woman, but a quick peek at the man’s ring finger made her feel a little more at ease.
“A special exclusive from the head of security for the largest threat assessment company in the Midwest…maybe the world? Of course I’m interested.” Cassie haphazardly piled the books into her backpack.
“Okay, you don’t mind taking my car, do you? It’s a little walk, though. I don’t have a parking pass, and I had to leave it a few blocks away.”
“No, I don’t…mind riding with you,” Cassie said nervously.
“Great. Maybe next time, I’ll let you drive.” Brandon smiled, trying to ease her doubts on his attentions.
He led her down to the secluded parking lot where only a few cars remained. Make sure nobody is paying attention, Brandon thought. He led her to the passenger side door, opening it.
“There you go.”
“Thanks, Mr. Thornley.” Cassie noticed the plastic draped throughout the car’s interior. “A little cautious with your car, are you?”
“Not really. Children, you know…they aren’t the neatest of individuals.” Brandon took her bag and placed it on the backseat. “Another thing. Call me Brandon. I think we can be on a first-name basis. After all, you did contact me on Konnect2u, right?”
Cassie flashed him a playful grin. “Yes, I thought it was pretty cool that you were on there.”
“Well, I admit, I was honored to get your request, but I have to tell you something.”
Cassie turned towards him, a half-serious look on her face. “You have my undivided attention, Mr. Brandon Thornley, Security Guru.”
He stared down at his watch. It was close to the deadline…time to end this charade. Brandon reached into his jacket, and before Cassie Youngblood realized what he was holding, a portable stun gun sent fifty-thousand volts shooting through her, sending the redhead into a state of unconsciousness. When he was satisfied she was still, he made sure she was propped upright in the seat. Brandon even buckled her safety belt, trying to make sure everything appeared normal, though he doubted anyone would pay attention to his passenger as he traveled through town.
Brandon pulled the car into traffic, almost getting sideswiped by a truck full of Christmas trees. Well, that’s the wrong way to avoid attention. He drove for several minutes until he arrived at the destination reserved for this special ritual.
Reaching over his motionless guest, he flipped open the glove compartment. He removed a CD from its holder and slid it into the car stereo. Soon, the interior was filled with the sound of rolling waves that searched for a home on some unknown shore. Brandon briefly closed his eyes, savoring that peaceful visual. When he opened them, he was drawn to the blue digital clock display on the disc player. It was time to satisfy the hunger within.
Brandon lifted his pant leg and unsheathed the polished knife. He scooted closer to the young woman, running his fingers over her freckled face. Leaning in, he pressed his chapped lips against her cheek.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to take good care of you.”
Brandon raised the blade, repeatedly invading Cassie Youngblood’s flesh, until the plastic seat covering was streaming with crimson, and his appetite—for the time being—was satisfied.
Chapter Two
Brandon double-clicked the laptop’s mouse, and within a few seconds, the request to add a new friend to his list had been sent. Cindy Palentine, you are the next contestant on Thornley’s Game of Death.
His youngest son burst through the office door, interrupting Brandon’s thoughts. “Dad, come on…you said, you was gonna play a video game with me a hour ago—”
“Ryan, I’m almost done here. Just give me a sec, kiddo,” Brandon said, his eyes scrolling down the web page.
“Mom says I gotta go to bed soon. She says I need to be extra good cuz Santa’s coming in a few weeks.”
“She’s right. I almost forgot.” Brandon flashed him a devious grin.
Ryan hung his head, slowly walking towards his father. “What’s you doing anyways?”
Brandon quickly minimized the screen, turning to meet his son’s curiosity. “Work stuff…nothing fun. I’ll be done in a few minutes, and we can finish the game from yesterday.”
Ryan eyes lit up. “Really? You’re not kidding?” Ryan then put on the most serious look a nine-year-old could manage. “Okay, Dad…just two more minutes?”
Brandon smiled, trying to hide his displeasure that his son had barged in on him during his special time. “Yes, two more minutes, and we can play.”
“Pinkie swear, Dad…you gotta pinkie swear.” Ryan held out his small hand.
Brandon laughed as the two interlocked fingers. “You satisfied now?”
Ryan flashed a smile. “I’m gonna beat you so bad, you won’t want to play me ever again.”
“We’ll see about that.” Brandon stood up from the chair and walked the well-fed boy to the door. “Just two minutes Ryan…that’s all.”
Ryan stared at his wrist, pretending to look at a watch that wasn’t there. “I’m counting, starting now…one, two, three…”
Brandon shooed him out of the room, trying hard not to smile at the boy’s persistence. Then, he locked the door and rushed back to the laptop. He typed in a few words, and a list of potential friends popped onto the screen. Brandon scrolled down the page until one particular picture captured his attention. The background for the design was red with a heart directly in the center. It was black, and a large two-headed snake surrounded the Valentine’s Day symbol. Below, was a name new to the web site. Brandon gazed at it for a few minutes before deciding to check it out further. Donovan Petrie, you just might be a suitable friend.
Ryan returned to the office and was banging on the door. “Dad, it’s been two minutes. Come out!”
Brandon looked once more at the member profile for Donovan Petrie before he clicked on the button to request him for his unique list. He logged off and shut down the system, then got up and opened the door. His impatient son was holding a wireless game controller.
“See, I told you it would only be a couple of minutes,” Brandon said, escorting his son away from the office and away from his secret world.
* * *
Donovan Petrie sharpened his knife as he stared at the young, naked woman across the table. Jamie Brooks was the blonde-haired vixen and inept waitress from the neighborhood restaurant. She was known for abusing her good looks to get whatever she wanted. Those looks, however, had been altered by Donovan’s steel blade. Her blonde hair was now mixed with streaks of blood, as each cut in her scalp produced a river of the precious liquid. The blood had started to pool beneath her chair, seeping into the cracks of the broken tiles. Donovan reached out and snapped his fingers, waking her from her trauma-induced state.
Donovan yanked on the circular metal attached to her skin, and the force caused it to bleed. He smiled at the piece of surgical steel. “Hey, wake up, bitch.”
Jamie Brooks blinked her eyes, but it was more of a reflex than anything else.
Donovan slapped her across the face. “Hey, you can’t die…not just yet.” He looked at the girl and removed the gag from her mouth. “I bet your ass you figured you’d be in some poor schmuck’s bedroom instead of here tonight.” Donovan laughed, hitting her again in the face. This time, he used the knife, and blood sprayed in all directions.
“Please don’t…no more.” Jamie forced out all the words she could.
Donovan cocked his head, adjusting his glasses. “So, you want to beg now? I remember when I was begging you for a date…and you laughed like I was a piece of shit. I don’t think so. Begging doesn’t suit you…not at all.”
The blonde woman tried to use her waning strength to escape the chair, not realizing the chains were holding her in place.
“Some people like restraints. Sort of another reason I use them.” He laughed, pulling on the chains. “I guess you don’t, huh?” Donovan stepped behind her, forcing them to dig further into her flesh. “Hey, you’re no fun. Maybe I should just slice you up, and be done with it.”
Jamie opened her eyes and stared at her captor. The pale, skinny man was coming at her again, and she could do nothing. Donovan positioned the blade against her throat. He leaned in and took a sniff of her hair. The mixture of spilled blood and melon shampoo was making him overly excited. He pressed the blade tighter against her supple skin, preparing to end her life. He inadvertently glanced down and noticed a red, blinking light on his phone.
“Jamie, don’t go anywhere, I have to see who this is,” Donovan joked, placing the knife on the table in front of his victim.
He retreated from the woman, flipping open the phone. Hmm, looks like someone wants to be my friend, he thought. Donovan enjoyed the local Konnect2u networking web site, and any request he received to be someone’s friend, he was sure to approve. He smiled, recognizing the name of the person who wanted to be added. Donovan hit the yellow approval button and closed the phone. Thank you, Mr. Brandon Thornley, thank you so much. Donovan turned to Jamie Brooks as he grabbed the knife from the table.
“Okay, you’re really no fun at all. But guess what? I think I found someone who might enjoy my company.” Donovan walked behind the girl and took one final smell of her hair, setting the blade against her jugular. He whispered in her ear. ”You don’t have anything to say before we are done here, do you?”
Jamie Brooks whimpered, but no intelligible words came out.
Donovan shrugged his shoulders. “I guess not.” He jerked the blade from left to right, watching the arterial spray from Jamie Brook’s body erupt all over the small kitchen. He stood up, flipping the knife on the table. I hope my new friend is more of a challenge than this one…
Chapter Three
Homicide Detective Patrick Morgan flashed his shield at the young officer stationed at the yellow barrier. The run-down apartment complex on North Haven’s south side was known for domestic disturbances and the occasional drug bust, but never in his fifteen years of policing the community had Patrick been called for anything like this. He glanced down at the silver name badge of the officer.
“Officer Herde, any word on who our victim is?”
“No, Detective. Commander Cromartie is waiting for evidence techs to take her fingerprints.”
“Okay, do we have anything on witnesses as of yet?”
“Just one, sir…the elderly man who discovered the body.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s in apartment 213. Officer Gren is taking his statement.”
“Good. Is Commander Cromartie on scene?” Patrick asked.
“Yes, he’s been here for about twenty minutes. He wanted me to let him know when you arrived.”
My daughter’s appointment was my first priority, Patrick thought. “Thanks. You better radio him and let him know I’m here…wouldn’t want to get both of us in trouble.”
“Will do.” Officer Herde’s smile faded. “How’s Kelsey anyway?”
“She’s hanging in there. Doc keeps telling us she’s almost old enough to repair the hole in her heart, but Herde, she seems to always be exhausted.”
“Keep the faith, sir.”
Patrick shook his head. “Herde, I don’t believe in faith, but thanks anyway.” He paused. “Hey, one more thing. When the evidence techs arrive, send ‘em up.” Waving to the officer, he entered the dimly lit hallway.
The area was empty, except for two malnourished cats sharing the remains of a headless rat. This place needs to be condemned, Patrick thought. He walked down the hallway until he reached apartment 106. The door was wide open, and another New Haven police officer blocked the entrance. Patrick made eye contact with him, and the sadness in the man’s eyes spoke volumes.
“Sir, the apartment belongs to a Wheeler Hodges. Commander Cromartie has an All Points Bulletin out for him. Doesn’t look like he’s been here in a while.”
“Probably not, but you never know.” Patrick patted him on the shoulder. He barely was inside the apartment when the combination of spilled blood and stale vomit made his nostrils flare.
“Detective Morgan, glad you could join us tonight.” Commander Cromartie’s towering figure came out from another adjoining room. The former defensive lineman from Iowa State stared down at Patrick.
“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t want to miss the chance to get in on this,” Patrick lied, knowing the Commander could sense bullshit sincerity a mile away.
“Come over here. I hope you got your big boy panties on. This is one fucked-up crime scene. Dumb ass even left the murder weapon on the table—”
“What?” Patrick looked puzzled.
“Yes, you heard right…not too bright a guy that did this.” Cromartie threw a small bundle at him. “Put these on, and follow me. Be careful…damn lights are burnt out.”
Patrick slipped into the white plastic shoe covers. The investigators stopped in front of a partially broken kitchen door.
”You ready for this?” Cromartie removed the mini-light from his belt.
Patrick nodded.
“Here we go, then.” The senior investigator pushed open the door, aiming the flashlight towards the center of the room.
Patrick saw the outline of the square table, and the knife Cromartie had mentioned was close to falling off the edge. “Holy shit,” he whispered.
The new source of light was a welcomed comfort since the only other illumination came from four dark candles placed on the floor surrounding the victim. Showcasing his prey, Patrick thought. The naked body of a once-beautiful woman was sitting chained to a wooden chair. Patrick inched closer, trying to step over the pools of blood. He stopped a few feet away from the young woman, almost overpowered by the stench of the dead.
Leaning down, he shook his head in disbelief. No fucking way. This crime was heinous enough, but with the addition of his next discovery, the bar was raised for what was truly sinister. There were matching circular wounds on the top of each foot with streaks of red marking the path of each puncture on her skin. Patrick could barely see the steel tip of the nail heads. She never had a chance.
“Did you see this shit?”
Cromartie wiped a hand over his wrinkled brow. “Bastard used a nail gun. That’s just plain fucking evil.”
Patrick reached into his jacket, pulling out a plastic evidence bag. “Hey, take a look at this.”
“What is that?” Cromartie raised his eyebrows.
“Looks like a piece of meat, maybe the remains of our killer’s dinner.” Patrick made sure he had the latex gloves on before he scooped it up and slid it inside the plastic. The CSI geeks would be more than a little pissed if he ruined their chances of collecting the killer’s DNA.
“Geesh, are you kidding? He stopped to have a goddamn lunch break before he killed her—“
“Unless he fed it to her, for some reason,” Patrick said, staring at the chains imprisoning the woman.
“Yeah, right. I’m betting Hodges hasn’t cleaned this shit hole since he moved in.” Cromartie pointed in the direction of the bag. “That has probably been there for months.”
“Maybe.” Something caught his eye, and he bent closer. “Whoa, boss, look at these chains.” Patrick motioned for Commander Cromartie to join him. “Take a look right there. Some other metal appears to be intertwined with the chain…do you see that?”
Cromartie leaned in. “What in the hell is it?”
“From the looks of it, I would say it’s barbwire.”
“Barbwire?”
“Yes, it looks like something the killer put together himself.” Patrick pointed to several lacerations on the victim’s wrists. He stared at the fingernails of the dead girl. Manicured and very well taken care of, he thought.
Cromartie ripped off his tie and stuffed it inside his front suit pocket. “A fucking creative killer who did well in shop class with nail guns and barbwire? What the hell…”
“Commander, this place is a mess. Odds are when he slashed her throat that blood got on him as well.” Patrick reached over with a gloved hand and inspected the knife. ”Okay…why leave this at the scene?”
“Because, Morgan…the freak is insane and could give a rat’s ass about getting caught.”
“Then, sir, there should be some nice juicy fingerprints just waiting to be discovered on this,” Patrick said, lowering the evidence into a brown paper bag.
“Morgan, I’ll get the night shift patrol officers checking the local bars, and we might as well check the twenty-four-hour superstores. Mr. Hodges, if he is responsible, may be recognized by the clerks.”
Patrick shrugged. “By the looks of the place, boss, Hodges isn’t coming back.”
“You’re probably right, but he’s still the only lead we have.”
“Something else. The dead girl isn’t from around this part of town, either. She has a recent manicure, and the polish looks to be the expensive type.”
“Prostitute?” Cromartie cocked his head.
Not surprised he would say that, Patrick thought. “No. Besides being in this place, she doesn’t fit the kind of girl someone around here could afford.”
“Morgan, she’s from somewhere.”
“And when we found out where, maybe that will tell us how she ended up here.”
Chapter Four
Brandon Thornley pushed his way through the glass double doors of Langston Security Solutions. It was recently rated one of the largest threat assessment trouble shooters in the Midwest and was becoming the dominant force in the security industry. The majority of people living in New Haven believed it was only a matter of time before the organization outgrew the mid-sized city and decided to relocate.
It was this background working as a federal law enforcement investigator that made him Langston’s best choice for their open position of security director. That was over ten years ago, and since then, he had made quite a name for himself. The countless magazine articles, radio interviews, and online blogs had propelled him to the top of the industry.
Brandon made his way to the oversized security desk. The red and green garland was strung from one side to the other. Former New Haven Police Officers Monty York and Trisha Gregory alternated between checking identification badges and providing visitors with much-needed information. Monty was a twenty-year veteran of the department, and his stocky build made Brandon think of his instructor at the law enforcement academy. Trisha Gregory was a petite woman in her late twenties and a recent victim of sexual harassment from her former department. Brandon honestly liked the two.
“What’s the good word, troops? I see we decorated.” Brandon smiled.
“Sir, did you see the newspaper this morning?” Trisha ignored his comment on the holiday décor.
“No, I was busy with the office in Sacramento. What did I miss?”
Trisha’s small frame stepped out from behind the desk. “Mr. Thornley, there was a murder last night. It’s been the morning buzz around here.”
The city always has murders, Brandon thought. “Ah, morning gossip for all.”
Monty York reached behind the desk and retrieved a folded copy of the New Haven Minute. He snapped it open, pointing to the headline. “Right there, boss.”
Brandon skimmed the news story with interest. That’s why I bury the bodies. “That’s not too far away,” he said.
“About eight minutes south. We used to have drug calls all the time.” Monty shook his head. “First murder there in a while, though.”
Monty will have some information for me. Brandon glanced over at Trisha. “I want to talk to Monty upstairs…it won’t be long.”
Trisha knew when she was being left out but was well aware her supervisor did have a stronger bond with Monty.
“Okay, sir.”
Brandon flashed a smile. “Not long, I promise.”
The two men turned down the hall and entered a private elevator. A few minutes later, they were sitting in Brandon’s office on the fiftieth floor.
“Monty, so there’s more to this murder than the paper is reporting?”
Monty leaned forward in his chair. “You know there always is, but you’re not gonna believe this.”
If you only knew, Brandon thought. “Well, share with the class…please.”
Monty gripped the sides of the chair. “My friend who runs the Crime Scene Identification Unit was even freaked out.”
“That bad?”
“He said the crime scene looked like some sort of ritual. Candles all around the dead girl.” Monty cringed. “That’s not all…her feet were nailed to the floor.”
Interesting technique, Brandon thought. “It does sound gruesome.”
Monty grew red in the face, shot up from his chair. “The bastard didn’t stop there, sir. He slashed the poor girl’s throat…like she was some filthy pig going to slaughter.”
Brandon appreciated the man’s emotion. I could never feel like that. “Anything else your friend told you?”
“Yes, apparently the killer left the murder weapon at the scene—”
“What?” This guy really wanted to get caught, Brandon thought.
“Damn straight. He left it there. I just don’t get that.” Monty tapped at his head.
“Well, tell your friend if their investigators need the video from our exterior cameras, I would be happy to help.”
Monty nodded. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. He won’t be too happy I told you, though.”
“I can keep a secret if you can.” Brandon put a finger to his lips.
“I didn’t do well with the one I just told you.” Monty forced a smile.
“True, but sooner or later, everything you just said will show up in the media anyway…don’t you think?” Brandon cocked his head.
“Yes, sir. You have a point there.”
Brandon peeked at his watch. Time to get rid of my guest. ”Monty, I have a meeting in a few minutes. Head back down to your partner and give her a hand.” Brandon waved as Monty exited the office.
When he was alone, Brandon eased the desk open and pulled out the black piece of headwear. It was worn, but he didn’t care. The mask was part of him, and he needed it.
Brandon laid it on the table as he booted up his desktop and logged in. Great to have such resources. With just a few clicks of the mouse, a list of his favorite web sites appeared. He double-clicked one in particular, and his home page was replaced with a green screen requesting his password. After his access was approved, Brandon typed in the name of person he was looking for. Thirty seconds later, a picture of a middle-aged woman, along with her current address, was staring back at him.
Brandon ran his fingers along the outline of the woman’s picture, and a chill went through his body. Hello, Cindy. I can’t wait to finally meet you…
Chapter Five
Detective Patrick Morgan took a sip of the hot chocolate, scrutinizing the statement of Thomas Quinn. The senior citizen was the first person to discover the girl’s body, and so far, his written account of the event was less than helpful. Patrick tossed the useless paper into his inbox. Maybe later this mumbo-jumbo will make more sense. He stepped out from his cubicle in time to see Commander Cromartie heading his way.
Oh, great…what does he want?
Cromartie handed him a folded piece of yellow paper. “Morgan, just got a call from Missing Persons. They received a report of a girl fitting our victim. Get over there, and get a statement.”
“You coming?”
“I have to meet with the Chief. Give me a call if it’s anything,” Cromartie said.
Patrick flipped open the paper. Hmm, very expensive neighborhood. “I told you she didn’t belong in that part of town.” Patrick smiled.
“Yeah, yeah, do you want me to bow to your fucking brilliance?” Cromartie turned and walked off.
* * *
Patrick parked the unmarked car on the adjacent street in front of 5830 Alpine Avenue. A second unmarked Ford pulled up behind. The driver approached him.
“Detective Morgan, I’m Detective Steve Wilson…from Missing Persons.”
He exited the car, extending his hand. “Call me Patrick. Can you give me a little intel before we go in there?”
“Sure, we got a call from a Serena Owens. She reported her live-in girlfriend, Jamie Brooks, hasn’t been home in two days. Serena says she left here wearing a white trench coat with a red sweater and blue jeans.”
“The girl was found nude. CSI team didn’t find any clothes in the apartment.” Patrick rubbed his day-old beard.
“Serena also said Jamie’s parents have been leaving messages on the machine, wondering why she hasn’t returned calls.” Steve Wilson shrugged. “A coincidence?”
“Maybe it’s not? Let’s see if we can get anymore from her.”
Patrick followed the other investigator to the front steps. Patrick knocked, and the dark-haired athletic figure of Serena Owens was soon in the doorway.
“Ms. Owens, I’m Detective Morgan, and this is Detective Wilson. We need to ask you a few questions about your roommate.”
Serena’s eyes appeared bloodshot. “Yes, please come in. Sorry I look like a mess.”
Patrick smiled. “No problem. I’m sure it’s been a difficult time.”
“Yes. She hasn’t called, and I can’t sleep knowing she may be hurt.” Serena led the detectives through a massive hallway and into an untidy, windowless dining area. Motioning for them to take a seat, she took an active role to clean the area.
Patrick decided it was best to let her keep herself busy while they conducted the interview. The girl is on the edge of a breakdown.
“Serena, this won’t take long…just a few questions to follow up on what you told the officer over the phone.” Patrick flipped over to a clean page on his legal pad. “Has Jamie lived here long?”
“We moved in over three months ago. I bought the place for us,” Serena said, straightening the newspapers on the table.
Rich girl buys her lover a house, Patrick thought. “Did she have any ex-boyfriends or girlfriends who might be jealous of your relationship?”
“We both dated several men and women before we finally got together.”
Patrick jotted down a few lines. “Okay, anything out of the ordinary happen lately? Maybe an ex-boyfriend or girlfriend contacting either of you out of the blue, for no particular reason?”
Serena, finished with her cleaning façade, finally sat down. “Well, I can only remember one thing, but it didn’t seem like anything…”
“Go ahead; tell me what you can.” Patrick touched her arm.
“Last Friday, I came home from running errands and noticed a strange tan car in our driveway—”
“You remember what kind?” Patrick’s pen was poised.
“It was older…reminded me of the ones the state troopers used to drive.”
Chevy Caprice, Patrick thought. “Okay, anything else?”
Serena wrung her hands. “Yes, the driver said he was lost and just pulled in to turn around. I got a bad feeling from him… you know what I mean?”
Yes, I do. A person’s first instinct should be taken seriously, and Patrick wanted to dig deeper. “Can you remember what he looked like?” Patrick glanced at Steve Wilson.
“I’m sorry…things are just a little fuzzy.” Serena shook her head.
“I know…but try if you can.”
Serena sighed and clutched at her hair. “One thing that stuck out was the color of his skin.”
Wilson leaned in. “You mean his race?”
She shook her head. “No, I mean the color of his face…it was like really pale. Looked like he was sick or something.”
Patrick scrawled a few notes on the pad. “Let’s stop for now, Serena. Just one more thing before we take off, okay?”
“Yes, Detective?”
“We want to take a quick look at Jamie’s and your room. Is that okay?” Patrick smiled. “There might be something there to help us understand why she’s gone.”
“If it’ll help find her, I’ll do anything you ask.” Serena wiped at a tear. She almost stumbled as she led the two investigators up the ivory staircase. Serena opened a set of cherry wood doors.
Patrick stared at the interior with envy. The two women had spared no expense on their pleasure, and the life-sized sculptures of mythical goddesses were example of this. The romantic setting did possess an oddity or two. All the walls were black and white checkered and covered with framed prints of another mythical being.
The girls must like pink, Patrick thought. He made quick eye contact with the other investigator, as Serena smiled at the curious gesture.
“Yes, Jamie loves pink unicorns so much, she went out and got a tattoo of this one.” She pointed to one of the pictures.
“Excuse me, Serena…a tattoo?” Patrick stared at the cartoon-like design.
She turned around and tapped the back of her neck. “Yes, right here. It’s just a small one, though. Pretty hard to see if you’re not looking for it.”
Shit! Patrick had inspected the victim, and there weren’t any signs of tattoos or any other body art on her. “Serena, is that her only tattoo?”
Serena blushed. “Yes, but there is something else…both of Jamie’s nipples…are pierced.”
Jamie Brooks wasn’t the girl at the apartment, Patrick thought.
“Serena, can you step out a minute? I want to talk to Detective Wilson.”
“Sure, I have to call her mom again anyway. If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.”
Patrick closed the door, in case Serena was still in earshot. “Steve, the girl doesn’t have the piercings or the tattoo. This isn’t her.”
“Shit. Maybe the killer ripped out the piercings?” Steve grimaced.
“I was there. Lots of blood, but nothing like that. Let’s talk about the tattoo on her neck.” Patrick reviewed his notes from the murder.
“They have that laser removal shit now…anybody can have one taken off.” Steve shrugged.
You gotta be kidding me, Patrick thought. “No, the CSI team would have caught it—”
“So you still have a Jane Doe, and I still have a missing person’s case?” Steve rubbed his eyes.
“It appears that way, but something else is bothering me.”
“The guy in the tan car?”
“Yep. I wonder how many houses around here would have video surveillance.”
Steve smiled. “Probably all of them.”
“Good place for you to start. May help find this girl.” Patrick opened the door.
Steve followed him. “What are you going to do?”
“Going to check with the medical examiner.” Patrick felt the vibration from his cell phone, then answered it. “Yes, sir?”
The deep voice of Commander Cromartie filled the speaker. “Morgan, I need you to meet me at 2121 Barnt Street. I just found out who our Jane Doe is—”
“Who?”
“She was the daughter of Magistrate Regan Stephans. Apparently, she had been receiving threatening phone calls from a former boyfriend.”
“Sounds like a prime suspect to me,” Patrick said.
“Yes, or so you would think…problem is, he’s dead as well.”
“Are you fucking kidding?”
“I wish that was the case. He was found nailed to his shower wall last week.”
“Nailed?”
“You heard right? I’ll tell you more when you get here.” Cromartie ended the call, leaving Patrick with an ocean of unanswered questions.
Chapter Six
Detective Patrick Morgan assumed New Haven’s most prestigious magistrate would live in the best neighborhood money could buy but was surprised when he pulled in front of the modest one-story. The chipped paint and unkempt yard made it a definite eyesore compared to the surrounding multi-million dollar palaces. Patrick spotted Commander Cromartie pacing around his unmarked vehicle. Cromartie looked up, hustling towards him.
“About two hours ago, we got a call from Magistrate Stephans. She indicated our Jane Doe is her daughter, Roxanne Stephans. There hadn’t been any contact with her for a week.” Cromartie handed him a sheet paper. “These are a list of threatening calls to the residence, prior to her disappearance.”
“From the ex-boyfriend you mentioned?” Patrick asked.
Cromartie shook his head, pulling out a notebook from his shirt pocket. “Yes, the kids name was Justus Alleandro. It sounds like a history of domestic abuse with the two of them.”
Justus getting justice, Patrick thought. “Not anymore. How did you find out about his death?”
“His parents found him in his Davenport apartment. They called here and told the magistrate about the murder.” Cromartie loosened his tie. “Then she called us.”
“Davenport? A goddamn long way from New Haven. Same method of operation for the deaths. Someone hated those two,” Patrick said.
“Shit, Morgan, they were young kids. No fucking way did they deserve this…no fucking way.”
“Is Magistrate Stephans still in there?” Patrick pointed in the direction of the house.
“No, she just left for the Medical Examiner’s office. I told her to contact us when she’s up to it.”
“Hopefully, if there is any evidence, it won’t walk away by then,” Patrick snapped.
“Morgan, I called Davenport Homicide and asked them to send a copy of the report on Justus Alleandro. Maybe, there something in it, which could help us—”
“Before, anymore people are killed,” Patrick handed Cromartie his notebook. “Check out the last page.”
Cromartie flipped to the last page, scanning the contents. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Another missing girl? Do you think she just took off or something else?”
Patrick scratched his head. “Serena Owens was freaked out by a guy driving a tan Caprice.”
“A lot of people buy retired patrol units. I wouldn’t take much stock in this.”
“Maybe, but she had almost a scared look in her eyes when she told us.”
Cromartie rolled his eyes. “Her girlfriend hasn’t come home; of course anyone strange in the neighborhood will get her fears going.” He tossed back the notebook.
“Boss, I think we need to look at this before we just write it off.”
Cromartie sighed. “Agreed. But first, let’s try to take care of what we have right here.”
“Gotcha, I’m gonna check around the house and see if there is anymore evidence on this Alleandro subject.”
“Knock yourself out. If you do find something, hit me up on the cell.”
Patrick glanced at his watch. “I doubt Wheeler Hodges has anything to do with this.”
“Probably not. Just keep me posted, and I’ll meet you back here at 0700 tomorrow,” Cromartie called after him.
Patrick flipped to the back page of the notebook and re-read the description of the man Serena Owens had provided. Something about him had given her an uneasy feeling. Patrick knew Commander Cromartie could think whatever he wanted, but Patrick was a strong believer of trusting his instincts, and they were telling him the evil in New Haven was just beginning.
Chapter Seven
Donovan Petrie sat at the table, admiring the store’s newest book seller. Tamara Bowers was a petite, thirty-something blonde with ivory skin and an electric smile. The trademark black polo and tan pants almost fit her like a second skin. Donovan watched while she climbed up a wobbly ladder, having difficulty balancing an armload of books. Donovan smiled at her independence. The woman possessed good enough looks to have any of the pimple-faced high school workers help her, but it appeared she wanted to prove this particular task was something she would do on her own.
Donovan took a sip from his mug, savoring the taste of the fine whiskey he had snuck past the mall rent-a-cop. Yes, liquid courage is my weakness, he thought.
Tamara took a glance in his direction, noticing he was staring at her. She flashed him a smile as she continued to put the inventory away. Donovan knew he wasn’t considered good-looking or even average, so any woman who gave him the slightest attention was a boost to what little ego he had. He lowered his head, pretending to be interested in the headlines of the local newspaper, then realized his latest body of work was the hot topic of the day. Wonderful, I’m getting some press. Donovan folded the paper and shoved it inside his jacket.
He finished his drink and was about to get up when a hardcover book landed next to his foot.
A soft voice called down to him. “Excuse me, but could you hand me that?” Tamara Bowers started to descend towards him, but she lost her balance and slipped.
Donovan intervened and caught her before she hit the ground. He held her for a moment, then righted her so both feet were on the floor.
“Um, thanks…I’d have broken my neck.” Tamara’s face was flushed from embarrassment. She managed a grin as she straightened out her clothes.
“We can’t have that.” Donovan scooped up the misplaced book and handed it to her.
She brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Well, thank you…twice.”
“No problem.” Donovan started to walk away.
“Hey! What’s your hurry?” Tamara followed him.
“I have to go.”
“Can I at least reward you for a good deed?” Tamara twirled her hair.
The blood seeping from your body will be reward enough, he thought. “There’s no need for that, but Mrs. Bookseller, be careful next time—”
“You can call me Tamara.” She bit her lower lip.
I already know your name, he thought. “I’m Donovan. Maybe next time you can buy me a coffee or something.”
She touched his shoulder. “Consider it done. Thank you again.”
Donovan took a quick look back at the woman as she watched him leave the bookstore. Pushing through the glass doors that led directly out of the store, he walked around the side of the mall where the bookstore had reserved parking spots. He had had been doing his research on her and knew her preferred choice for parking. There it is. Donovan kneeled down next to the passenger’s side rear wheel and removed a carving blade from inside his jacket. He looked in both directions, thankful for the cover of twilight. When he was satisfied there wasn’t anyone in the area, he forced the rusted steel deep into the rubber. The hissing sound of escaping air put a devious smile on his face.
Donovan put the knife back inside his jacket and scurried back to his vehicle. Nothing else to do now but wait.
He opened the arm rest and grabbed his cell phone, logging into Konnect2u. Donovan skipped through the invitations for frivolous games and quizzes but decided to do a little background research on his newest friend. He scrolled over Brandon Thornley’s profile picture and clicked. On the information about you section, he made mental notes as he read it from top to bottom. Very high profile guy. Donovan knew it would be difficult getting to him, considering the man’s background, but a challenging kill was just the thing he needed.
Donovan had spent so much time learning about Brandon, he almost didn’t realize what time it was. He looked out the window and noticed the lights from the bookstore’s sign had gone dark.
“Shit.” He threw the phone in the glove box.
Donovan turned on the engine and drove to the rear of the building, keeping his distance. He noticed the Durango was still parked in the same spot, but the owner wasn’t anywhere in sight. Fucking great…I missed her.
As he was about to leave, he noticed the thin frame of Tamara Bowers walking across the parking lot. Stopping at her SUV, she noticed Donovan’s handiwork. She slammed her purse against the pavement, then leaned up against the vehicle.
Looks like she needs my help again. Donovan laughed. He pulled away from his hiding spot and headed towards her. When he was about twenty feet from her, he stopped the car and flashed his lights.
Tamara shielded her eyes. She picked up her purse and quickly dug though it until she found what she was looking for. Donovan drew the vehicle closer but stopped when he saw her actually hurry towards him.
“Hey, asshole, turn off the brights,” Tamara yelled, aiming the can of mace in his direction.
Donovan rolled down the window and smiled. “Asshole? Ouch, that really hurt.”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know it was you.” Tamara covered her mouth. She lowered the can.
“How many assholes are you expecting?” Donovan stepped from the car.
“No, I don’t…mean you. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Had some mall shopping to do.” Donovan changed the subject. “Looks like you could use some help.”
Tamara half smiled. “Yeah, someone fucked up my tire. You have great timing.”
“I didn’t know book nerds had that many enemies.” Donovan laughed, looking at the wheel.
“Hey, be nice,” she scolded.
Donovan bent down. “You got a spare?”
Tamara shook her head. “Damn ex-husband took it.”
Hmm. Nobody to worry about at home. Donovan glanced at his wrist. “It’s too late to get it fixed. You need a lift somewhere?”
Tamara blushed. “It’s the second time you have rescued me.”
Donovan opened the passenger side door. “So, you owe me two cups of coffee.”
“You’ll have to come back and see me to collect.” Tamara touched his arm.
“It’s a date then.”
Donovan pulled the car into traffic. Several minutes later, he was on the expensive south side of the city. Once in her community, she pointed to a beige house on the opposite side of the street where he’d turned.
“Do you want to come inside for a drink?”
Donovan stopped the car in front of the house. “No, I have to be at work early tomorrow.” After I kill you, he thought.
Tamara stuck her tongue out. “I’ll see you again soon, right?”
Sooner than you think. A smile crossed his lips. “Of course. I’ll be in for that coffee you owe me.”
Tamara bit her lip. “Well, thanks again…for everything,” she said, stepping away from the car.
“See you at the bookstore,” Donovan said, leaving her standing on the edge of the curb.
A few blocks down was a twenty-four-hour eatery. He surveyed the area before parking at the rear of the building. Donovan popped the trunk and rummaged through the contents, slipping on a black nylon backpack. Here we go. Reaching into his jacket, he removed a silver cigar case and flipped it open, smiling. I’ll have one now and save the other for after. Donovan zipped up his jacket and walked in the direction of Tamara Bower’s house. Ready or not, here I come…
Chapter Eight
Brandon Thornley had decided to take a day from his busy schedule to attend to his next victim. Cindy Palentine worked for Blaisedale Reality, and her resume for finding houses for New Haven’s wealthy was most impressive. She had just finished her fourth showing of the day and was driving her red Jaguar with reckless abandon, trying to get to the next.
Can’t blame the woman for wanting to succeed. Brandon picked up his cell phone, tapping the numbers with his finger.
“Blaisedale Reality, Cindy speaking.”
The soft but strong voice had almost an intoxicating effect on him. “Hello, Mrs. Palentine, this is Brandon Thornley. I sent you an e-mail on Konnect2u…about the open house on Shall Street.”
“Great to get your call, Mr. Thornley. I’m standing in the kitchen of the home right now. It’s simply lovely.”
Such a liar. Brandon laughed. “Well, I hope so. My wife treats her kitchen like a sanctuary…and it’s almost as big.”
“Indeed. I can tell you first hand that the marble floors and oak cabinets make a perfect combination,” Cindy said.
Hmm, always trying to close a sale, Brandon thought. “It does sound pretty amazing. I’m just running a few minutes behind but should be there soon.”
“Excellent. I’ll be waiting.”
“Thanks, I can’t wait to see it.” He clicked the phone off.
Brandon took a glimpse down at his watch. It’ll be dark soon, but there’s still time. He turned the corner and headed in the opposite direction of where the open house was scheduled. After driving for several minutes, he finally stopped on a side street across from his destination.
Brandon scanned the neighborhood for several minutes until he felt confident his presence had gone unnoticed. Behind the passenger seat was a medium-sized brown paper bag. He grabbed it and stuffed it inside his coat, exiting the car. There were no vehicles in the driveway, and the walk around the house was quick and uneventful. At the back door, he fumbled in his front pocket, pulling out a thin piece of metal. Brandon inserted it through the lock, wiggling it back and forth until he heard a click.
Too easy, he thought, reaching down to his belt, unclipping the tactical flashlight. Brandon gently pushed the door open, aiming the light through the darkened interior. There was an intermittent beeping coming from the room adjacent. Probably have sixty seconds.
Brandon quickly located the alarm panel. Bad choice of systems. The L.E.D. on the white rectangular pad was flashing. Gotta work fast. He ripped out the paper bag from inside his jacket, removing several items. He inspected the screws, holding the panel in place. These were standard make and model, not specially designed for this particular system. The person who installed it was obvious naïve in the field. He peeked at the timer on the display.
Thirty seconds left. Brandon picked up one of the tools and removed each screw with skill and precision. The silver base plate loosened, exposing two black wires. He reached for the next tool, stripped the wires, then crossed one set of copper over the other and tied them together, wrapping them in place. The noise from the panel ceased, creating an eerie silence.
With the face cover secured back in place, he punched in a series of numbers, clearing the screen. Satisfied the system was ready, he reset the timer, then rushed through the house and out the door from which he came. Brandon checked the handle, ensuring the locking system was undamaged. Excellent.
Within a few minutes, he was sitting back in the driver’s seat of his car. He reached out for the cell phone and hit the redial button.
“Blaisedale Reality, Cindy here.” The voice sounded annoyed.
“This is Brandon Thornley. I had a car problem, but I’m coming now.”
“Mr. Thornley, I’m going to have reschedule. Sorry, I have another appointment…want me to pencil you down for later tonight?”
That won’t be necessary. “Mrs. Palentine, I’ll check my schedule and get back with you. I didn’t mean to cause you a problem.”
Cindy sighed. “Well, I hope the house is still available tomorrow.”
She’s playing with me. “I hope so, too. That kitchen sounds perfect for my wife.”
“Give me a call when your schedule is free. I’ll try to keep other potential buyers at bay until then. I think once you see the house, it will be love at first sight,” Cindy soothed.
She talks a good game. “Can’t wait, Mrs. Palentine.”
A devious smile filled his face, as he sat and waited for darkness. In a few short hours, Cindy Palentine would be buried in a shallow grave next to all his other victims. Konnect2u was proving to be a most precious ally in the quest to rekindle a hobby, lost…but not forgotten.
* * *
Cindy Palentine turned the Jaguar up the street, tired from a long day at work, followed by an after-hours party at a local nightclub. As she approached her house, a look of contempt spread across her face. Mark forgot to turn on the timer for the damn lights. She yanked the remote control from the visor, hitting the button. The metal scraped as the garage door slowly opened, exposing a steady glow. At least this light works. Cindy was about to exit the car, when the familiar sound of “Rock City” came screaming from her phone.
“Shit!” She fumbled for her phone. “Hey honey, guess what you forgot to do?”
Mark Palentine’s voice sounded strained. “I hope nothing.”
“You forgot the timer for the lights. You know I hate coming home to a dark house—”
“Huh? I checked the timer before I left—”
“Mark, I don’t want to hear it. The damn lights are off, so that means you didn’t check it.”
“Cindy, I’m sure I did—”
“Whatever. I’m too tired to argue with you. I just want to take a nice hot bath and fall into bed.” Cindy sighed.
“Late night? Or should I say early morning?”
“Fuck off, Mark.”
“Maybe I did forget. I just called to tell you…won’t be home, until the day after tomorrow—”
“You told me tomorrow…why do you have to stay?” Cindy exited, slamming the car door behind her.
“I have a meeting with the vice president of marketing tomorrow night.”
Asshole. She pushed the button on the wall as the garage door started to close. “We have cruise tickets.”
“I know, but what do you want me to do? He is the vice president.”
“Mark, I told you about this. It’s important we spend time together…especially since, it’s damn close to Christmas. Don’t you care?” Cindy stopped at the back door, placing the key into the lock.
“I care, but this is my job—”
“That’s what I always hear. I gotta go.” She threw the door open. It bounced hard against the wall, causing a picture to crash onto the floor. “Fuck!” She flicked a switch as the overhead lights flickered on. Finally, some light.
“Cindy, wait—”
She flipped the phone on the table. “Serves you right. Now I have to clean up this mess,” Cindy mumbled to herself. She scrambled to locate a broom and dustpan. A few minutes later, she was emptying the remaining shards of glass into the trash when she heard the sound of something heavy landing on living room floor. Shit, gotta call the police. She reached for her phone, but it was no longer where she left it. Someone’s in the house. Another loud crash followed.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” I need another plan. Cindy backed up to the block where the butcher knives were sheathed. Both of her hands trembled as she fumbled trying to remove one of the sharp objects. I wish Mark was here. Cindy placed both hands at the base of the weapon and started to inch her way towards the living room.
“My husband is coming home, so you better leave.” Cindy stared into the darkness, grabbing the knife tighter. She reached the edge of the living room and raised her voice even louder. “I don’t want any trouble…just leave!”
Cindy removed one hand from the blade, reaching out in search for the light switch. She ran her hand along the inside of the wall until her fingers felt the smooth surface of the panel. Thank God. Cindy didn’t hesitate flipping them all, which abruptly engulfed the room with light. She put the other hand back onto the knife, prepared to strike out at whoever came into her line of vision. After scanning the spacious area, she realized what was responsible for causing the unexplained sound. I really must have slammed the door hard.
She loosened her grip on the knife, placing it down on the mantle above the fireplace. Cindy bent over and picked up a large wood carving resembling the body of a Saber-tooth Tiger. Satisfied there was no damage, she placed it back on the mantle. I’m just being paranoid.
Cindy walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack. This should calm my nerves. She poured herself a goblet full and headed up the stairs. Time for some relaxation. At her bedroom door, she began to shed her clothes. She stood in front of the mirrored closet for several minutes, obsessing about the usual physical imperfections as a woman in her late forties was known to do.