Mysteries Of The First Degree

Murder! Too Close To Home

kidNAP Inc.

The Artifact Hunter!

Other books by J.T. Lewis

Find and follow J.T. Lewis

Murder!

Too Close to Home

The Adventures of Gabriel Celtic

By

JT Lewis

******

Copyright 2011-2014 by J.T. Lewis

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to

Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. The

names, characters, places, and incidents are products of

the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and

are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to

persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or

organizations is entirely coincidental.

******

Prologue

February 15, 1997

The rain was coming down in sheets as the man pulled the car over to the side of the semi-deserted road and turned on the emergency flashers. Sitting back anxiously to wait, he wondered how long it would take on a night with this much rain? He didn’t have long to linger, however, as an old pickup pulled off the road in front of him. His right eye started twitching quickly, as it always did when he got excited or nervous.

Pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt, he opened the door and entered the storm, running quickly up to the driver’s door of the truck. Rolling the window down, the driver asked if he needed a ride somewhere. Opening his mouth to accept the offer, the man caught a glimpse of a shotgun in the back window. Confusion quickly enveloped him as he glanced back towards his car…an armed man may be a greater challenge then he was prepared for.

As he was mulling over his options, another car was pulling in behind his, the shadows created by a passing motorist revealing two occupants in the front seat. Making a decision quickly, he thanked the first driver and told him his friends had just arrived. The truck driver shrugged his shoulders as he shifted the truck into gear and drove off. The man now ran back to the newly arrived car just as the driver was rolling down his window.

Need a lift? the new driver questioned as the hooded man reached his window.

I could sure make use of a phone if you have one, replied the now soaking wet man.

Sure, hop in the back out of this rain, the driver said as he reached back to un-latch the door.

Sliding in behind the driver, the man pulled the door closed and sat back in the warm seat of the car. I really appreciate this, the man exclaimed as he took the offered phone, looking back to check on any approaching traffic. He dialed the number, the other party picking up after one ring.

Yes? the person on the other end of the call answered in a raspy whisper, Are you in position?

The man replied that he was, stating that a lovely couple had allowed him to use their phone as well as giving him shelter in their back seat.

Well then, the person on the other end of the call stated, shows me what you got.

Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out a gun. Casually, he shot the husband first, then the screaming woman, a shiver of exhilaration running down his spine as he watched the bodies’ slump forward into the dash.

Chapter 1

April 17, 1997

My name is Gabriel Celtic, an investigator for the county prosecutor, and currently living a hell like none I’ve ever faced. Although I have been to war, shot three times and stabbed once, I had thought of these last few months as worse than any of that. But even as bad as that time had been, that little bit of hell had wound itself up in a gigantic ball of crap and spewed itself out, intertwining my wife and I in its clutches.

I had apparently dozed off, awakening to the now familiar beep, beep of the life support system, the machine now keeping my wife alive. Worry racked my heart as I looked upon my beautiful bride of nine years.

"She should not be here, this was a mistake," I thought momentarily. My rational mind then interjected its own line of reasoning. It had been her decision I reminded myself, there was nothing to be done to change that now.

This had been my home day and night for two weeks, watching over my love, praying to anyone that would listen to bring her back to me. She had been shot, and while her wounds had been fixed, the outcome of the act was still less than certain.

Swelling in the brain had left her in a coma, the result of the fall down into the basement of the old house after the shots. I sighed in despair and got up to go to the bathroom and get some more coffee.

It was after midnight and the cafeteria was mostly empty. Celia was there at the cash register, just like normal, it seemed like she must work every night. She smiled her sad smile that I thought she reserved for just me, and asked me about the status of Betty.

No change, I mumbled for the hundredth time as I filled my new cup with the hospital-grade brew. I had long ago come to the conclusion that their recipe involved old dish rags and used coffee grounds.

I’m so sorry, she replied in her now familiar British accent, not knowing what else to say, but always trying to say something nonetheless. I just know in my heart Betty will make it, she’s always been so strong, she added with a hopeful look.

I walked up to pay and Celia stated that the dark liquid in question was the end of the pot and that I should just take it, she would get busy making a new pot straight away.

I smiled again at one of Celia’s excuses for giving me coffee, thanked her, and headed back to the room.

Walking slowly from a combination of exhaustion and worry, I again mentally clicked through the facts leading up to my soul mate lying in a hospital bed. This invariably led to thinking back to our life together, and to the life in whole that had caused me to experience this painful point in my existence. If I could have changed any one of a thousand things, I might have been able to keep my love out of danger.

I put on my game face before I entered the room, convinced that Betty knew when I was there and could probably pick up on my mood. She had always been able to read my mind.

I checked on her condition, leaned over and kissed her forehead, then sat back in the chair they would probably have to replace when I was done with it. Laying my head back, I again went over the case that Betty and I had helped solve, the case that had put her here as she threw herself in harm’s way to save another.

Yet she wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t had a theory, a theory that had led us to the old farm house where she met her fate. I would give anything to have been wrong. I would give everything.

My eyes were heavy and soon I was drifting off, again reliving in my head life’s events leading to this moment. Even as one nightmare was over, another had taken its place leaving me feeling helpless, alone.

Being Gabriel Celtic today meant being powerless and useless. It was not a good feeling.

***

Fully asleep now, I found myself in the now familiar room: fire blazing in the fireplace, a steaming cup of coffee, and a chess board with a game in process.

I sat down in the comfortable chair, and then hefted the coffee while looking over the board. I smiled at the most recent move of my opponent, obviously he had been boning up on his game.

I heard a creak in the floor behind me, knowing there would be no one there but turning to look anyway. As before the room was empty, but the feeling that someone was coming grew stronger with every visit to the room. I was hopeful that someday someone would reveal to me the mystery of the strange but comfortable room.

That’s the story of my life, yet another mystery to sort out.

Chapter 2

February 15, 1997

Reaching into his other pocket, the man pulled out a card with a single word on it. His mentor would not be happy about the card, but he couldn’t help himself; he had to let them know he was the one responsible.

Blood spattered the windshield which also contained the holes where the bullets had exited the car. Both bodies were now slumped forward, looking like rag dolls, waiting their turn on the shelf for the next kid to choose them to play with. Another shiver ran down the man’s spine…he had done it! And it had been so easy…he couldn’t believe he had been nervous about it.

The man dropped the card to the floor as he pocketed the revolver with his gloved hand. Exiting the car on the passenger side and running up to his own vehicle, he quickly entered it. Turning off the flashers, he pulled into the road and casually accelerated to the speed limit.

Pulling off the road again after about five miles, he turned onto a one-lane gravel road. Traveling for a hundred yards he then stopped, exiting the car before entering a black SUV. Pulling this out to the highway, he turned back the way he had come, soon approaching once more to the scene he had just left.

A patrol car had just pulled up behind the couple’s car and turned on its beacons.

I’d love to see his face when he sees what’s in there, the man beamed. Looking forward again, he moved on past the police car and continued toward his destination.

Pulling into the deserted city park, he parked in a dark corner of the parking lot, throwing the keys in some bushes as he exited the vehicle. With his hoody already up, he stuck his hands in his pockets and started the long walk home. His instructions were to lay low for a couple of weeks and not do anything out of the ordinary; he would be contacted when the time was right.

Barely able to contain his excitement, the man desperately wanted to stop at the bar to celebrate. Thinking again of his mentor’s warning, he decided against that plan, opting instead to continue home and start on that twelve-pack he had in the refrigerator.

He knew if he went to the bar he would want to spout off after a few drinks, and he also realized that he could not afford to do that. He would wait, knowing someday he would be able to share his exploits. People would listen and adore his courage; the Ghost would be famous.

***

The lights of the patrol car were flashing off of the windshield of the truck, mixing with the water droplets as they ran down the glass in an eerie display of color moving color. The Mentor was observing the cop, smiling as he discovered the carnage within the car. Feeling safe from observation…the dark truck blended easily into the shadows of the stormy night…the hooded figure let the excitement build from deep within.

Finally seeing enough and not wanting to be accidentally discovered, the person known only as the Mentor slowly did a u-turn on the otherwise deserted road, turning on the lights only when out of sight of the flashing beacons.

Smiling at how beautifully the plan had come together, the Mentor mentally started working on details of the next step. Rolling down the window as the truck entered the city limits, the Mentor threw the cell phone out the window as the truck crossed the bridge.

The man had done as he promised; he had executed the plan…and the driver, even having the added bonus of an extra victim.

That should get the ball rolling, the Mentor mumbled as the truck continued on through the town, heading towards home to get some sleep.

Tomorrow would be a busy day.

Chapter 3

February 15, 1997

"All hell is breaking loose," thought Tucker as he observed the seemingly hundreds of flashing lights surrounding the site. First on the scene, Deputy Tucker Vance had been unprepared for what he had found.

Walking up to the car, he initially knocked on the window and waited for the window to be lowered, the rain beating down drowning out any noise. Getting no reaction, he shifted his flashlight into the car; at first not understanding what he was looking at.

When the realization came, it had hit like a sledge hammer to his gut. Suddenly he had found himself on his knees, expelling seemingly everything he had eaten for the last three days. When he felt some control return, he ran to the other side of the car and checked on the passenger.

27 to base, he spat out quickly into the mike of his radio.

Base, the dispatcher replied dully.

10-54, three miles west of town on US 50, I repeat, 10-54, I need all units immediately.

Silence followed for a few seconds before the dispatcher returned, the voice now clipped with excitement.

27 go to channel 2.

Switching his radio, he heard Tucker? What’s up?

Taking a deep breath, Tucker then described what he had found and reiterated that he needed help…now!

Roger, Tucker, help is en-route.

He had started hearing the wailing within moments, and it had seemed not to have stopped since. This was not something that happened in this county, and everybody was going to want to be involved.

Sheriff McHenry was already here, and he never came out at night. Barking orders like he was still the army sergeant he used to be, the sheriff took control of the scene as soon as he arrived. Tucker was glad to be relieved of that duty; this was way above his pay grade.

The sheriff called Tucker over when he had the scene secured to his satisfaction. Tucker, did you see anybody around when you pulled up, see another car leaving or anything of that nature?

No sheriff, just the taillights of the car; I thought they were in need of assistance. When I saw what was inside, I’m sorry, but I lost it for a minute. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Don’t worry about that son, you did great considering, you did everything you were supposed to do. No one can know how they will handle their first murder scene.

Sheriff Austin Lean McHenry had been around it plenty. Long ago losing the thinness leading to his nickname, he had put in his twenty with the US Army, doing three tours of duty in Vietnam.

Afterwards he had moved home and joined the state police, staying there for fourteen years until his election to sheriff last year. Being sheriff in a quiet county had, to that point in time anyway, been a lot like retirement. But he had quickly reverted to action mode when the call had come in this night.

This was what he had trained for, and his heart was pumping strong in his chest as it hadn’t for awhile; it felt good. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the ever-present pack of cigarettes. Remembering his promise to his wife to quit, he nevertheless took out a fag and stuck it in his mouth, leaving his old Zippo lighter in his pocket.

Glancing back at the sound of additional sirens approaching, he grabbed the nearest deputy’s arm and yelled, Keep those God damned fire trucks back; there’s no reason for them to be here.

"It’s like a damned circus," he thought to himself.

How long on the crime scene guys? he asked another deputy, who said he would check.

Tucker, the sheriff yelled, see if you can get the K9 unit from Allenville PD here, ASAP.

Yes sir, Tucker answered, heading toward his cruiser to get in touch with dispatch.

A single red bubble-light on the dash of an approaching car caught his eye. He groaned inwardly at the sight, murmuring under his breath

"What the hell is he doing here?"

Allen Vanguard was going to grace them with his presence, and the sheriff had little patience with the young prosecutor. Although acknowledging that he was good at what he did, the sheriff bristled at his attempts to be involved in things he had no business being involved in.

Walking up and standing beside the sheriff, Allen waited for an opening before he spoke.

Sheriff, he mumbled in greeting

Allen, Sheriff McHenry acknowledged stiffly, might early for the prosecutor ain’t it?

Allen Vanguard stood looking at the grisly scene for a long minute before saying, well Lean, just trying to get a feel for probably the most brutal crime this county has seen since the horse and buggy days. The people in that car deserve justice, and it’s never too early to start on that.

Do we know the identity of the murdered couple? he continued.

The sheriff grunted, putting his cigarette behind his ear as he reached into his shirt pocket, grabbing his notebook and flipping it open in a huff.

Abby and Tyler Lettermen, drivers’ licenses say they are from Cairo, Illinois. They were shot execution style, back of the head for both. We are doing a background check to make sure they have no criminal involvement in anything that might lead to this kind of a retaliation, but it could be just a crime of opportunity; wrong place at the wrong time.

We don’t know if they had a passenger before they stopped…maybe the guy in the back seat just went berserk. Maybe they just stopped to help someone with a broken down vehicle, getting shot for their trouble. Either way, we got a real crazy on our hands. I don’t have to tell you how scary that would be for the folks of our little county.

The K9 unit is on its way, the sheriff continued with a grumble as he put away his notebook, may be able to tell us which way the perp went from here, if the rain doesn’t wash away the scent before then.

If the second scenario proves to be the case, this was planned out, the sheriff continued with a look of concern on his face. Whoever did this would have gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to stage a trap for someone.

Sheriff McHenry again reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a small evidence bag with a business card inside.

Found this on the floor in the back. We assume the doer left it, but we haven’t tested it yet. Forensics is on the way, we should know more soon.

Taking the bag, the prosecutor eyed the white and plain looking business card. There appeared to be no identifying marks, save for the one word spelled out in plain block letters: Ghost.

Chapter 4

February 16, 1997

Allen had called Frank and me into his office the next morning. We had by that time of course both heard what had happened and were chomping at the bit to get working on the murders. Allen had apparently been up all night, exhibiting pronounced bags under his eyes even as he exuded the substantial energy typical of his term as prosecutor.

I’m sure you guys have heard about the murders last night, he started. I’ve had Ellen compile a list of the clues collected by the Sheriff’s department up to this point, which are few.

Handing us both a single sheet of paper each, I was taken aback by just how little in the way of information was listed.

Last night, he summarized, one Abby and Tyler Lettermen, man and wife, were shot in their own car west of town. Background checks on the couple reveal no previous criminal activity or trouble. It looks like it could be some sort of pre-planned, execution style murder. We are going on the assumption for now that the victims were random.

We think the perp used a stolen car as a decoy to lure the couple into helping a broken down motorist. He or she apparently got in the back seat, pulled out a gun, and shot them point blank in the back of the head. With the rain we had last night, we were lucky the K9 unit could find anything at all, but they did find a scent from the car going about thirty feet west.

We also found an abandoned car this morning about five miles away on Langdon Creek Road. The K9 units returned and they again found a scent, tracking him thirty or forty feet where the scent again disappeared. Apparently another vehicle was stashed there, although we have no idea what it was. The gravel road yielded no tire treads.

We’re at a dead end on that for now, and there were no hair, fibers or prints left in the car. The doer must have been wearing gloves and a hat of some sort. Also, there were no shell casings to test, either he policed the brass or a revolver was used. The size of the holes indicates that it was probably a .357, we’ll know more when we find the slugs.

There were only two real clues of any merit, but they aren’t much. There was a minute amount of soil in the back of the victims’ car, which was otherwise spotless, and we have sent that off to the state to analyze.

Turning to the evidence list in the back of the file, he handed us another sheet of paper.

The other piece of evidence is copied there.

Looking at the second sheet, I found what appeared to be a copy of a business card. The single word in block letters in my mind immediately indicated an amateur’s attempt at attention, a professional wouldn’t be bragging about his identity.

Ghost, I said out loud, not liking the direction the investigation was already taking. A perp throwing out a name to us like this led me to reason that it might be just the beginning of some larger plan.

What will be our part in the investigation? I asked, knowing the Sheriff’s department usually took the lead. Allen rose from his chair, walking a few steps to stand in front of the window, his back now toward us.

I’ll be activating the new Major Crimes Taskforce for this case. As you know, we’ve been working out the logistics of it for the last six months. We’re ready now, and this is exactly the type of case we have set this up for. We’ll have the best of the available talent working together as one unit, an impressive amount of talent. Gabriel, you’ll be taking the lead with the unit, handle the day to day decisions.

Thanks I thought, but kept my thoughts to myself.

The Major crimes taskforce had been one of the hallmark points of action for Allen Vanguard’s second run for office. The main thrust of the idea was having people from both of the policing agencies in the county, as well as investigators from the prosecutor’s office working together on larger or more serious crimes, all overseen by Allen himself.

Negotiating with the other agencies had turned out to be the major hindrance to completing the task force, as each in turn dug in their heels at what they saw as an intrusion on their turf. Allen being no slouch when it comes to digging in when he thinks something is right, finally overcame their objections with sound reasoning and assurances that he wasn’t trying to supplant their authority.

We are of course hoping something brakes soon, Allen continued as he turned from the window. We are concerned with the public’s reaction to these murders, so we have opted to keep the facts close to our vest for now. So far we have been able to keep this out of the news, releasing it as a two-car crash with fatalities from out of town. As of now that story is holding. I’m concerned that this may be the start of something, although maybe I’m just being paranoid.

It definitely has the earmarks of someone with a plan, I said, it’s too exact for someone on a lark. Dropping that card in the car like that, someone is trying to make a name for himself. Maybe we should check other departments in the tri-state, see if the word Ghost has ever come up in another murder, or any crime for that matter?

Allen walked back to his desk, making a note on his ever-present file card. Looking up at Frank, he asked if he could get on that right away; Frank nodded, always ready to dig into a clue.

We disbanded and headed toward our individual desks to get a start on the case.

I did not like the sound of this murder. I did not like it at all.

Chapter 5

February 16, 1997

Morning came and the man reported for work as usual. He knew he had to keep to his ordinary schedule to avoid any kind of suspicion, but he was busting at the seams, wanting to tell of his exploits.

Being a stock boy at the local Save-A-Bunch was a good cover for the Ghost, he thought to himself. No one would be looking here for the most famous killer to come along since Jeffrey Dahmer.

He could feel his heart rate increasing, a film of sweat forming on his upper lip as his eye slowly started to twitch. He looked around himself quickly to make sure no one was looking; then slowly reached into his pocket. Finding the item with his fingers, he started rubbing it, instantly calming his racing heart. His mentor would certainly not approve of his actions; leave and take nothing, he heard repeated in his head over and over again.

He couldn’t help himself though, all the great ones took mementos as reminders of their feats, and he would be the greatest of them all.

Chapter 6

February 17, 1997

Sheriff McHenry had been at it for thirty six hours straight, and he was ready to drop. Whoever had perpetrated this murder had been good, very good. Scant clues had been discovered by either his deputies or forensics. The strange card had yielded no clues to date either. He had people trying to track the printer of the cards; somebody undoubtedly should remember printing a card like that.

There was no sign of prints, hair or fibers. Even if he had access to DNA testing, there was no trace of any body fluids or skin cells. There were no shell casings at the scene, so he probably had used a revolver.

So far they had been able to keep the murder out of the media, releasing a story of a two-car crash with fatalities. He had decided to use the offered help of the fire department, using the firemen to direct traffic and the big trucks to block the view of the crime scene from prying eyes. He had personally sworn each man to secrecy himself, but he knew was only delaying the inevitable leak.

The get-away vehicle, recently reported as stolen, had been found down on Langdon Creek the next morning. Hidden from view by the overgrown conditions, he or she had apparently had another car stashed there.

The K9 units had also been a bust, only finding the short trail between cars at both locations.

The sheriff finished his cup of coffee. He had long ago lost track of how many he had consumed since this whole thing had started. The cold liquid drained from his cup left with a sour taste in his mouth that would probably follow him to the grave. Pulling a cigarette from behind his ear, he looked around for somebody to yell at.

His tired eyes met only the fourteen or so men who had been up as long as he, each one looking worse than the next. There was no doubt about it, they had hit a wall. He had to get some of these men home for a few hours of shuteye or they might all keel over from exhaustion.

Calling over his chief deputy, they worked out a scheduled rotation to get the men rested but back for their regular shifts.

OK, listen up, the sheriff yelled, We need to get you men some sleep and home time. Jason has the rotation and will let you know the schedule. We’ve hit it hard boys, but there is no use killing ourselves with the small quantity of clues we have on hand. We need some fresh eyes looking at this; we’ll catch a break tomorrow.

Dismissed, the sheriff barked as he turned from his men, ending any discussion as he crushed his unlit cigarette between his fingers before pulling out a fresh one from the pack as he walked.

He made his way to his office and sat down with a grunt, one more thing to finish before he too could head to the house. He picked up the receiver and dialed the number, rolling back in his chair to wait for someone to pick up while fondling the cigarette between his fingers.

"Pain in the ass," he mumbled under his breath as the other party picked up, announcing themselves in an overly professional manner.

Prosecutors office.

Chapter 7

February 17, 1997

Frank and I had taken up station in the conference room, going over and organizing our clues. Frank Luther was an enigma in these parts: part detective, part bulldog, but a man you want on your side in an investigation. He would dig to the bottom of the file, a crime scene, or even a dumpster to get to the information needed.

Betty jokingly called him my sidekick, although that would imply something comedic, and there was nothing funny about Frank.

A bachelor as well as a veteran of thirty years in law enforcement, Frank had salt and pepper hair that he wore high and tight. At 5’9" he was built like a spark plug, having a barrel chest that made it hard for him to get into some of the close spaces we sometimes had to venture into.

He loved interrogating a suspect, dancing masterfully in and out through the facts, playing the good cop part, as well as the bad. Putting them at ease in one moment, making them squirm the next. I have witnessed many times the gathering of information from a suspect that no one else could crack, opening his arms like Moses leading his children home.

Although we have been partners for at least six years, Frank is by nature a loner, and I sometimes feel I have not cracked that barrier that puts us on par to being true friends. Still, I consider myself lucky to be his partner and would do anything for him.

We had been going over the facts and throwing around theories all morning, coming to some conclusions, throwing out some others. Frank had been on the phone with other departments asking about cases involving the word Ghost or any other similarities with no luck.

All of the accumulated information was laid out in front of us, but at this point it was too sparse to draw any concrete profiles from. The Vics were clean, with no legal problems in their past. We could surmise from this that it was a planned killing, and the perp liked calling himself ‘Ghost’. Other then that small bit of knowledge, everything else was conjecture for now.

The accumulated evidence, tied with our experience did inevitably lead us to a few assumptions however.

We believed the murderer to be male, probably not over mid-twenty’s due to his need for attention.

We also assumed this to be his first murder, although other crimes in his past seemed likely considering the demonstrated organization of the crime.

We were at a loss as to how to proceed from here. Frank was antsy, wanting to get busy on something but not knowing which way to move forward.

Has the Coroner turned in a report yet? I asked.

Frank said he would check and left the room quickly. Knowing Frank, he wouldn’t be back until he had the report, even if he had to stand over the Doc, pushing him on until he finished.

I continued mulling over the list for several more minutes until a rumbling in my stomach let me know I was overdue for lunch. Pulling together the file and leaving it on the table, I grabbed my notebook and headed out into the sunshine to find a quick meal, planning to walk for awhile during lunch to get the cobwebs out.

Walking through reception on the way out of the office, Ellen gave me a wink as I passed, saying Have a good walk.

My normal day very seldom included a walk at lunch, and I marveled once more at her uncanny ability to read minds. Being in her mid-forties but looking twenty years younger, reading minds was just one of her amazing attributes for which she was well known.

Grabbing a pastrami sandwich at Lenny’s down the block, I started walking a several block course while I ate. The sun was bright and warm for February, the heat feeling good through my parka. I was definitely feeling better by the time I got to Taylor Park about half way through my walk, and I was enjoying my time outside. Being cooped up inside all winter tended to make me grumpy and irritable. I decided to have a seat in the sun for a few minutes, letting the warmth creep into my whole body.

Leaning my head back into the sun, I dozed off momentarily.

***

Never knowing how I get there, I was once again in the room; that beautiful, comfortable room. I sat down in the chair, lifting the coffee cup that never emptied or got cold. Taking a few minutes to look over the chess board, I discovered that my opponent was using a new line of attack.

Very devious, I uttered out loud, turning my full attention to the board for a few minutes more.

I have enjoyed the challenge and tactics of chess since learning from and playing with my grandfather when I was young. He would certainly enjoy this ongoing game I was involved with immensely, and I thought of him quite often while in the room, working out strategy against my unseen opponent.

When I had lined out my response to his attack, I moved my bishop to block his progress, then sat back to enjoy my coffee. I just sat there enjoying the warmth and comfort of the room for a long while, my mind relaxed, not thinking of anything. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes.

Opening my eyes once more, I was no longer in the room, but walking down a dark road, the skies dumping water on me in buckets. I found myself walking up behind a parked car, surprised by bright flashes with loud retorts coming from the inside. A thin man wearing a hooded sweatshirt swiftly got out of the car and ran to another one parked in front. Getting in, he then slowly accelerated down the road, the taillights disappearing when he rounded the bend.

Walking up to the original vehicle, I look into it and see the grisly scene before me. I can’t open the door for some reason, so I just take in what I can through the window, trying to get as much into my head as I can. Something nagging in my mind told me that this was very important.

Walking to the other side of the car, I again try the door with no success. It seems as if I have no strength, like my arms won’t work right. I lean down and stare into the window again. Looking closely at the woman, I start to notice something on her neck, putting my nose to the glass as I try to comprehend what I was seeing.

Unexpectedly a lightning flash lit up my dark surroundings for a split second, temporarily illuminating the scene before my eyes. Time slowed, and I was suddenly face to face with the ghostly figure staring hauntingly back at me.

I jerked back in shock; my feet tangling together as I tried to escape the grisly scene. I felt myself falling, falling back into the flooded ditch behind me.

I threw up my arms, trying to grab at anything to catch my fall, but found nothing and continued to drop, the ditch having disappeared as I plunged into nothingness.

***

I jerk awake on the park bench; my heart pounding in my chest. The warm sun seemed suddenly out of place as I shielded my eyes to the brightness.

I stayed there for a few minutes, trying to make sense of the scene as it played itself out in my head. I grabbed the notebook and recorded all of the facts that I could remember. On the last item I stopped, pen over paper, trying to remember. Something about the woman’s neck, but I couldn’t pull it out. It was buried deep. I wrote ‘neck….’ at the end of the page, hoping it would come to me later.

Closing the notebook, I stood and started the walk back to the office. Having witnessed the crime in my head, the sun now didn’t seem quite so warm. I now had a chill down to the core of my being, and I would need several more cups of coffee when I got back.

Chapter 8

February 17, 1997

Arriving home after another dreary day at work, the man grabbed a beer and started pacing his ratty apartment, too excited to sit.

Two weeks wait for the next project was such a long time Now that he had a taste, it was a very long time. He walked back to the refrigerator to find something to eat, then decided he wasn’t hungry and continued his pacing.

Reaching into his pocket, he touched it for the thousandth time that day.

He was again calmed by the feel of his prize.

Taking it out, he gazed at it as he sat down on the couch, taking in every detail. He noticed it was of an unusual design, a cross with a circle around the middle, probably some kind of religious symbol or something.

He again thought of how his mentor would feel about his award, quickly depositing it back into his pocket, as if she were watching.

He would be good; he couldn’t believe his luck at finding Jasmine and wouldn’t screw it up. She had helped him get organized, given him the chance to actually do what he had always dreamed of. They were a team, but he would be the famous one of course, The Ghost.

His mentor was smart, even finding him was genius, tracking him down just from rumors and snippets of conversations overheard by others, conversations spoken by him mostly when he was drunk of course. He always talked too much when he drank, but he would talk of famous murders and murderers, leaving little doubt as to his admiration of the men he idolized.

Although he had never seen her, she had probably scouted him in person at some point, listening in with awe as his stories unfolded he suspected. He had decided that she was probably some plain looking housewife in real life.

You really gotta watch out for those quiet, mousey ones.

He thought back to the day of first contact. Picking up the seldom used phone that night, he mentally prepared himself for the usual rapid-fire banter of a telemarketer. Although he mostly enjoyed giving grief to the idiots that called him several times a week, he actually thought there ought to be a law against this type of intrusion.

The raspy voice on the other end of the line was a surprise as the person asked him to confirm his identity. Hesitating only momentarily, the man thought ‘what the hell’ as he told the caller his full name.

Silence followed, long enough for the man to consider hanging up on the raspy-voiced caller, but intrigued enough to hang on and wait.

I hear you might have a secret desire, my sources tell me you are very intrigued with, shall we say, situations with a certain…definitive ending.

The man was instantly on guard, his eye jerked in its insane dance of nerves. He would have to watch what he said; this could be some sort of trap. Can the police arrest you for what you thought, what you said?

Who is this? the man demanded into the receiver; thinking this might be one of the guys from the bar. Although he wouldn’t consider himself friends with the people he drank with, he wouldn’t put it past one of them to try something like this in an inebriated state.

A few more seconds passed before the voice returned, "Just consider me someone who might be able to facilitate your dreams. I have a couple of projects in mind, they would need someone with your… let’s say interest to complete. Would that be of any significance to you?"

The man’s heart skipped a beat, could this strange voice be asking what he thought was being asked?

Can you be a little more specific, The man asked nervously, just so I know we are talking about the same thing?

A short silence followed again before the voice continued. I have a couple of people in mind that need to be eliminated, permanently, does that scenario interest you?

Yes! the man blurted out quickly, I mean sure it sounds intriguing, what would I need to do, and who is this anyway?

"As to whom I am, my name is…Jasmine, but for our purposes, why don’t you just call me Mentor, or teacher if you prefer. I have much to teach you, opportunities will be presented that you may never get otherwise, if you are willing to learn."

You will receive instructions, she continued without waiting for an answer. I will let you know where and when. You must agree to follow them to the letter, along with a few other requirements as well. You must do everything I ask or the deal is off. But, if you agree to all of the conditions, I will put you in a position to carry out your wildest dreams; you will be talked about for years to come. Interested?

He was in heaven; he had to restrain his emotions so as not to blurt out his answer as he readily agreed to all of the conditions. One of the big ones it turned out was to stay out of bars until the projects were over; after all, that is how she found him in the first place.

"Never talk if you can do," she had finished with finality before hanging up the phone.

Well he could definitely do, he had proven that. And it was only the beginning.

Chapter 9

February 18, 1997

The next morning had dawned for the sheriff with more information, but little more. A recovered slug revealed that the caliber had been a .357. No other clues were garnered from the bodies save that they hadn’t suffered much.

The victims had been the veritable ‘perfect’ couple: high school sweethearts, college educated, good jobs. They had actually been traveling home from volunteering at a hurricane Fran cleanup project.

Reading this information from a report now laying in front of him, Sheriff McHenry could only utter a sad damn shame.

It had also been determined that a call had definitely been made from the couple’s cellular phone at about the time of the murders. The recipient of the call was also a cell but was so far untraceable. It was not certain if the couple or the perp had made the call, but it was a local number. If it was the murderer that made the call, it could indicate that there was more than one person involved in the plan. The Sheriff wasn’t quite ready to speculate on that thought as yet though.

Physical evidence now seemed played out; everything had been gone over at least three times with no additional results. The soil sample was also being held up at the state lab; it could take up to three weeks to get the data back on that.

The sheriff sat back and pondered his next move, knowing another angle of attack was needed. Sitting up suddenly, the others around the conference table leaned back in surprise. Without preamble, McHenry started issuing orders right and left.

Jason, he said speaking to his Chief Deputy, get someone in touch with the police department involved in the car theft, see if there were any witnesses or clues left at the scene. Check to see if they canvassed the area for any security cameras that might have been recording the crime by accident, if not ask them damn nicely if they could check on that.

Jason nodded and got up, leaving the room in a hurry to assign people to the tasks.

And tell Jane I need another cup of coffee, the sheriff added as an afterthought, pushing the cup of cold coffee away with a disgusted look on his face.

The sheriff rubbed his eyes before glancing over at the two deputies left at the table, appearing to size them up for their tasks.

He had hand picked these men for this duty months ago, both good men, both picked for completely different reasons.

Tucker Vance was a tireless worker, and was wise to the ways of the street. His other choice was Larry London; a very smart man that interacted well with others. One of his main jobs would be interacting with the other departments. He would be the sheriff’s liaison officer, keeping the sheriff in the loop as the case progressed.

The prosecutor, in all his eminent wisdom, the sheriff started, Has deemed it a wise move to activate the Major Crimes Taskforce for this case.

I don’t agree with him. I think it shows a general lack of confidence in our department

The sheriff sighed in resignation. Be that as it may, I have already chosen the two of you to be our representatives, even though I had thought at the time it was mostly a publicity stunt. You know, photo ops and such.

"As you know there are two officers from Allenville, as well as the two investigators from the prosecutor’s office. Your new unit will take the lead in the investigation, and report directly to the prosecutor. This will be your full-time job until we get this guy, our department will act as support."

McHenry spit out the last word as if it had a sour taste.

I expect you two to do your best work on this, and let me know if there is anything you need. You’re dismissed, good luck.

Both men replied Yes sir, then got up and filed out of the room. As they opened the door they were met by Jane in the doorway carrying a steaming cup of coffee. The men yielded to her respectfully as she passed before they exited the room.

Jane McHenry was the sheriff’s assistant, a smart looking woman in her early thirties with shoulder length, dark hair. It was very hard to ignore how well Jane filled out the uniform, but she had long ago earned the respect of every man on the force with her efficiency and work ethic.

Graduating college with a degree in law enforcement, as well as having graduated from the police academy, she was highly qualified…even over qualified for her current position. There was of course one other reason why the deputies respected her to such a degree…she was the sheriff’s daughter.

Listed on the rolls as a deputy, Lean McHenry considered his daughter much more then that. She was actually his secret weapon, as he depended on her to handle everything that he couldn’t or wouldn’t do. Catching the movement of her approach out of the corner of his eye, he rolled back in his seat and placed his dangling cigarette behind his ear, relaxing instantly at the sight of his favorite deputy.

Setting the cup down in front the sheriff, she took an empty chair across the table and sat down.

That’s your fifth cup since you got here this morning, she stated with a firm tone. Your pending heart attack is not going to help this investigation.

Smiling at the rebuke, he assured her that he would try to control his intake the rest of the day.

Tucker and Larry have been assigned to the prosecutor’s task force until we can crack this case open. The sheriff remarked with a grim smile. Make sure that the paperwork gets filed, and get with Jason to re-arrange the schedule to cover their shifts, please, the sheriff asked.

Jane was the only one in the office that could get a please out of the sheriff.

Sure thing, sheriff, Jane said with a smile, Anything else I can do… Dad? Her face grew more serious as she spoke.

She knew he hadn’t been the same since her mother had died about six months before…complications of a long bout with Lupus. She knew her dad had a rough exterior, but he was probably hurting inside from the loss of his wife of thirty five years.

Waving away her concerns, he said he was fine, just wanting to get to the bottom of this business.

Tell you what, he continued, when this is over, lets go up to Michigan to fish, like we did when you were little. A vacation, he finished with a smile.

Sounds like a plan, she smiled back, standing up and heading back to her desk. I expect to be seeing maps and plans in the next couple of weeks, she called over her shoulder as she exited through the door.

Sheriff McHenry hoped like hell he would be able to keep that schedule.

Chapter 10

February 18, 1997

I had arrived at the office the next morning determined to get to the bottom of something…anything for that matter. As I set out my work on the conference table, Frank walked in with two steaming cups of coffee, setting one in front of me. Sitting back, we both took a moment to enjoy the brew before getting down to business.

I had had a lousy night, waking up repeatedly to showings of my dream from yesterday, the bags under my eyes a testament to my sleeplessness. Although my strange dreams involving the mysterious room had usually panned out in the past, I was still skeptical.

Thinking about the last part of the dream, I asked Frank if he had heard anything from the Coroner yet.

Doc Elliot has assured me he will have something for us this morning, Frank stated while looking down at his notes. Looking back up quickly he added The old cuss literally threw me out of his office yesterday; said he would have the report when he had the report, and not a moment sooner.

Doc Elliot was a local retired physician, having practiced in the community for over fifty years. Now in his eighties, he had run for the Coroner’s position just to have something to do. That, and the Republican Party couldn’t find anyone else that wanted it.

Of course, being a Coroner in southern Indiana is usually more title than action, the Doc spending most of his time holding court at the Legion.

Let’s take a walk, I’d like visit the good Doctor, I said as I stood up. I have a couple of questions to ask him.

Walking the three blocks to the Coroner’s lab, a concrete-block room in the basement of the old city clinic, we walked right in and helped ourselves to the ever-present pot of coffee.

Having heard us in the office, Doc Elliot leaned in through the swinging doors of the lab to see who is interrupting his quiet.

Well if it ain’t Frick and Frack, the prosecutor’s red-headed step sons. You boys are on the wrong side of town; I just sent the report over to the powers that be.

I held out my hand, smiling at my old friend as I clasped the still strong grip in mine. As the Doctor on hand when I entered this world, a fact that is repeatedly brought to light in his presence, I had known Doc Elliot almost longer than my own mother.

Giving him the once over, it amazed me how little he had changed in all of these years. Always in suspenders with glasses pushed up on his forehead, his bushy mustache and eyebrows had not altered in the last thirty years.

You got a copy we can peruse for a moment, I asked, There is something I need to check.

Shuffling slightly, he walked over to an old file cabinet, opening the top drawer and pulling out a file.

Didn’t find much you don’t already know. Shot from the rear, bullet in and out, he added with finality. Anything in particular you looking for? he asked, eyebrows rising questioningly.

Did you come across anything on the woman’s neck, a red mark or scrape?

Doc Elliot cocked his head slightly while giving me a funny squint. Pulling his glasses down on his nose, he opened the file, looking for a detail on the body diagram.

Setting the folder down on the examining table, he pulled off his glasses, using them for a pointer while indicating the notation next to the neck on the diagram.

Small red abrasion on the right side of her neck, barely a quarter inch long. Now tell me, Kreskin, how did you even know to ask that, and what’s your interest?

Trying to act as nonchalant as possible, I told him it was just a hunch. As to what it meant, I as yet had no idea.

He grunted while closing the file, asking if I was done with it. I replied that I was and thanked him for his time.

You know where I’ll be if you need me, he replied as he gathered his jacket and headed for the door. Chicken wings, three for a dollar at the Legion, he said smiling, holding his hand up in a wave as he left.

What was that all about, Frank asked as we left the clinic, you getting a little psychic in your old age?

I told you it was just a hunch, I answered a little too brusquely, let’s just try and figure out what it means, shall we?

The walk back to the office was quiet as we pondered this new evidence. This may be the best clue we have in this case so far, at least it might have been if we knew what it meant.

Chapter 11

February 18, 1997

Answering the phone, the man heard the familiar raspy whisper say, You idiot, you left a calling card. Have you learned nothing?

Immediately on the defensive, the man raised a shaky hand to calm his eye as he went into his rehearsed reply.

I needed to give them a name to focus on, and since it has never been used in another crime, I thought it might throw them off.

Silence followed for a few minutes before his mentor continued, Can it be traced?

No, no, the man spat out quickly. I printed it on my own computer, and I never touched it without having gloves on; I was very careful.

After a few more moments of silence, the mentor sighed.

Alright! The damage is done anyway. From now on leave a card at every scene, if you can do it without jeopardizing your escape. It may help throw them off as you said.

Are there any other surprises that I need to know about? she asked then.

The man waited but a moment before spitting out, I did take a necklace from the woman…

An ominous silence followed before the mentor literally screamed into the phone, the raspy whisper forgotten in the ensuing tirade. Get rid of it, immediately! Jasmine started. That can be directly traced if they ever bring you in for questioning. Leave now and go dump it in the river, this could ruin everything!

The man quickly agreed to this as Jasmine hung up. Nervous perspiration had appeared on his hands and he quickly wiped them on his pants. He got his keys and left the house, driving towards the boat ramp in an effort to appease his mentor, just in case he was being watched.

He had already decided against getting rid of the prize, he had grown too attached to the odd shaped cross. He would try to restrain himself from doing it again, but this was his first, he would keep it forever to remind him of his start.

It was indeed a night of surprises. The mentor finding out about the card he knew would happen, but the level of anger the mentor displayed about the necklace was more than surprising. He could understand it however, it was a risk that could end up defeating them in the end.

He had never heard anyone that angry before. He wondered aloud what made Jasmine click, what was she trying to prove with the tasks he had agreed to?

Shrugging his shoulders, he continued on with his feigned trip to the boat ramp.

That’s one woman I wouldn’t want mad at me, he said with admiration.

***

Her hands were clenched in fists as she hung up the phone, her ranting having left her angry and frustrated. Correction, the IDIOT’S ineptitude had made her angry and frustrated.

She was lost in thought, her body trembling in resentment toward the man. How easily he could ruin everything with his unprofessional antics.

From the other room she heard Darlin?’…you ok in there sugar?

The voice instantly calmed her as she finished her preparations for the man. Not that they were extremely involved, as Tex insisted on only two things: Cowboy Boots, and a Stetson.

Traveling here only every three months or so, Tex always had a lot of pent up desires that she was more than willing and able to satisfy. He was also more than willing and able to pay for her ministrations.

Setting the hat gently on her head, she took a moment to admire her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her perfectly coifed, shoulder-length blonde hair complimented the jet-black Stetson like it was made for her…which as a matter of fact it was.

The perky breasts and flat stomach that helped define her sensuous body had always been as much of a turn-on to her as it was to her friends. She moved a hand to her breast, and then