Fallacy (Detective Jade Monroe 3) Read online

  Fallacy

  by

  C. M. Sutter

  Copyright © 2016

  All Rights Reserved

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This book is a work of fiction by C.M. Sutter. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used solely for entertainment. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  C.M. Sutter is a crime fiction writer who resides in the Midwest, although she is originally from California.

  She is a member of numerous writers’ organizations, including Fiction for All, Fiction Factor, and Writers etc.

  In addition to writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and dog. She is an art enthusiast and loves to create handmade objects. Gardening, hiking, bicycling, and traveling are a few of her favorite pastimes. Be the first to be notified of new releases and promotions at: http://cmsutter.com.

  C.M. Sutter

  http://cmsutter.com/

  Fallacy: A Detective Jade Monroe Crime Thriller, Book 3

  A taunting letter threatening violence and death to the vile people of Washburn County puts Sergeant Jade Monroe and her staff of detectives on high alert. The letter states they will see the author’s work soon, but without forensic evidence, Jade has no way of knowing who wrote the letter—or whether it’s valid.

  When the first victim is discovered, the carnage promised in the letter is realized, and as the body count escalates, so does the depravity of the murders.

  The media tags the perpetrator with the moniker The North Bend Carver. With the county in a tailspin, Jade finds her only chance of stopping the killer is to insert herself right in the middle of the madness.

  Stay abreast of each new book release by signing up for my VIP e-mail list at:

  http://cmsutter.com/newsletter/

  Find more books in the Jade Monroe Series here:

  http://cmsutter.com/available-books/

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 1

  I glanced up from my desk when the security door opened between dispatch and the bull pen. Everyone had been working on closed-out cases from last month, and I was thankful to be inside the building, where the temperature was a comfortable seventy-four degrees. The stifling heat had persisted for days with no relief in sight.

  Jan’s shoes clicked as she passed our desks, carrying a stack of mail in one hand and a manila envelope in the other.

  Jack reached out as she walked by. “Fan mail or get-well cards?”

  “You wish,” Jan said as she continued toward Lieutenant Clark’s office.

  “Are you sick, Jack?” I grabbed my cup and picked up his too as I headed for the coffee station.

  “No, but—”

  “But you want to drag out the shot-up shoulder story as long as possible? I get it. You’re a guy.”

  Clayton and Billings groaned.

  “You’re never going to have the last word, Jack,” Billings said, “and you’re never going to win with her.”

  We chuckled playfully with each other. I set the steaming coffee cups on our desks and went to fill up Clayton’s and Billings’s too.

  Jan grinned as she walked out of Clark’s office and back to the reception counter. “Stay cool, guys. I hope the AC doesn’t break.”

  “Son of a buck!”

  Clark’s sudden outburst made us spin in our seats. Through the glass wall, we saw him grinding his fingertips into his temples.

  “This can’t be good,” I said.

  Our larger-than-life boss shoved back his chair and stormed into the bull pen. He grasped the manila envelope tightly in his hand. “All of you, in the conference room now.” His heavy footsteps sounded down the hallway even though the floor was carpeted. “Get forensics up here too.”

  I dialed the forensics lab and told Kyle that he and Dan were needed in the conference room ASAP.

  “Crap,” Clayton said as we followed Clark down the hall. “I have a feeling we’re going out into the heat whether we like it or not.”

  We took our seats around the walnut-veneered table and waited for Kyle and Dan to show up. Clark stood at the end, rapping his knuckles on the wood. I couldn’t get a read on him yet. Either something had him shaken up or he was more than angry. I figured it was both.

  Kyle and Dan arrived and sat at the nearest available seats after they walked through the door. Clark began by shaking the contents of the manila envelope out onto the table. He slid the envelope to Dan. “I want this fingerprinted. So far I’ve touched it, and so has Jan. You can figure half a dozen people at the post office have too. The contents are disturbing.” Clark opened the cabinet at his back and pulled out the box containing latex gloves. He removed a pair for himself and slid the box down the table. “Everyone, glove up.” He carefully opened the single sheet of white printer paper that was folded at the middle. “I’m going to read it aloud, then let each of you take a look.”

  Clark set the sheet of paper on the table in front of him and smoothed it flat. He took a seat and puffed out a loud sigh, then began to read.

  “No more lies and betrayal. It’s time for retribution and cleansing. The vile people must pay, and Hell’s doors are open to welcome them in. Prepare yourself. You’ll see my work soon.”

  The lieutenant slid the sheet of paper down the table, and each of us took a turn reading it. “We have to decipher this message. We haven’t had an incident yet to get a feel for what this person means. I’m throwing it out there. Does this author sound like a kook or the real deal? What are our options? Wait and see?”

  Dan spoke up. “First off, sir, we’ll fingerprint everything. T
his paper looks like common printer paper stock, so likely nothing there as far as it being anything beyond typical. We can’t get a determination from the note itself. It’s typed in Notepad then printed out. If we can’t lift prints off the letter or envelope, we are at a dead end with those items. It was mailed in town and I’d venture to say from one of the blue mailboxes. There aren’t any cameras around them.”

  “What about DNA on the stamp or where they sealed the envelope?” I asked.

  “Sure, we’ll check those too. That’s common procedure, but we have nothing to compare it to.”

  Jack added his two cents. “The message itself sounds kind of like the hell-and-damnation type of speech. Somebody in the clergy or even a religious zealot could have written it.”

  Clayton slowly read the message out loud again. “Yeah, I see where you’re coming from, Jack. It does sound kind of preachy.”

  “Yes it does,” I said, “but we still don’t know if it’s a serious threat or just someone blowing smoke.”

  Clark stood. “Okay, guys, check out whatever you can as far as forensic evidence. Make ten copies of that letter before you get started. The rest of you, keep your eyes and ears peeled for somebody with an ax to grind. That’s all we can do for now.”

  Chapter 2

  The long driveway beyond the dead-end road led to the small, faded clapboard house. The walls inside the home held family secrets that were as dead and buried as the family dog. Nobody spoke of Alice’s incident anymore—it was neatly tucked away, hopefully forgotten, and life carried on. Forced smiles and the cautious daily routine filled the family’s waking hours.

  Alice’s eyes darted toward Mandy and then at the clock. She watched as her twenty-year-old daughter crossed the living room, barefoot and still wearing her green flannel bathrobe. Mandy took a seat on the old floral couch, as she did every day at eleven o’clock.

  The dark-paneled living room in that house held the sofa, a rocker, two end tables, and two velvet wall hangings of horses. The sofa had seen better days—sun fading had taken a toll on it after being in front of windows year after year. What used to be vibrant colors on that threadbare couch now appeared as pastel hues at best. Two flattened cushions looked as though somebody had let the air out of them; they held permanent indentions from years of use. Two people sat in that sparsely decorated room.

  Alice watched as Mandy pulled the lace curtain to the side and looked out. Dust particles floated through the air from the disturbance. Mandy said the blue sky resembled the Caribbean, even though she had never been there herself. She added that the wispy clouds resembled grandma’s curly locks of white hair—God rest her soul. It had been five years since her untimely death. Mandy turned toward her mother and wrung her hands.

  “Is today the day, Mama?” Anxiety swept across Mandy’s face as she waited for an answer.

  Alice nervously scratched at one of the thick scars on her forearm, paused the television, and pushed herself up by the arms of the creaky rocking chair. She crossed the room and knelt on the couch, with one knee buried in the cushion, causing the springs to squeak, then peered out the window. She looked at the sky as if she were waiting for a sign. She sighed in relief and released the curtain, letting it fall back to its original position behind the couch. “It’s perfect as a matter of fact. Tell Mariah to start the iced tea. It’s a good day for your daddy to die.”

  Dread and her mother’s command forced Mandy off the couch. She slumped to the staircase and clutched the newel post. With her hand cupping the side of her mouth, she yelled to her sister in their shared bedroom. Mariah leaped down the stairs, and her deep blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “We’re finally doing this?” she asked.

  “Mama said we were.”

  Mariah opened the silverware drawer and lifted out the plastic utensil tray. Underneath, folded neatly into a tiny square, was just what she needed. She hopped up on the wrought-iron barstool with the cracked vinyl seat and carefully unfolded the piece of pink paper she had been saving for weeks. She smoothed out the folds of the paper on the breakfast bar and waited while Mandy gathered her necessary utensils.

  Mandy pulled a saucepan out of the lower cabinet and set it on the stove.

  Alice clicked the button on the remote and turned off the television. She set the remote on the arm of the rocker and crossed the room to the kitchen. The table sat beneath the window that faced the driveway and the workshop. The chair legs screeched across the linoleum floor when she pulled it out. She sat on the corduroy cushion that was tied to the chair spindles and watched out the window—she had the best view from there.

  Mariah grudgingly untangled her hair from the nose pieces of her glasses as she muttered under her breath. “Mama, I need glasses with nose pieces built into the frames. Every time I put these on top of my head, they tangle in my hair.”

  “You’re both getting contact lenses and new hairstyles soon, but for now, keep those glasses on your eyes where they belong.”

  Mariah smiled. “I can’t wait.” She tore at the long strands of brown hair that were knotted in her glasses. She shook the hairs from her hands and watched as they floated to the floor.

  Mandy waited at the stove. “Are you going to read me the directions or not?”

  Mariah put her glasses back on and read from the recipe she printed off the computer for Southern Sweet Tea. Mandy followed the instructions Mariah called out and poured four cups of water into the pan and lit the burner. Once the water boiled, Mandy dropped in twelve tea bags of black tea. Mariah informed her that the tea needed to steep for five minutes.

  “Mama, is this going to be for lunch?” Mandy asked as she watched the timer on the stove count down the few remaining seconds.

  “Yes, sweet baby. It needs time to cool in the refrigerator before we serve it. Got the sugar ready?” Alice pressed her cheek against the cool window to watch the workshop doors for movement. Fly specks coated the glass.

  “Uh-huh.” With a plastic slotted spoon, Mandy scooped up the tea bags as if she was netting fish and set them on the chipped white saucer on the counter. She measured out a cup of sugar and poured it into the pan, then stirred it with a wooden spoon until the sugar was dissolved. “All done.” She set the spoon on the saucer next to the tea bags. With the glass pitcher filled, she carried it cautiously and placed it on the top shelf of the refrigerator, then wiped her hands on the food-stained tea towel.

  “Mariah, take this empty water bottle and the funnel. What you need is on the second shelf in the garage in the yellow gallon jug. Pour it in the bottle quickly and don’t spill any.”

  “Yes, Mama. Daddy’s going to love that sweet tea.”

  The kitchen led into the garage beyond the paint-chipped door. Mariah flipped on the light switch and took two steps down to the garage floor. She reminded herself not to dillydally. That was something she found herself doing far too often, and time was of the essence. She needed to be quick but careful with the funnel so she wouldn’t spill anything. In less than three minutes, Mariah was back in the kitchen and proudly showing off the syrupy green liquid she had poured into the clear water bottle.

  “I didn’t spill a drop.”

  “Good girl. Tuck it under the sink for now. We won’t need it until lunchtime.”

  Alice returned to the rocker, clicked on the television, and channel surfed until she found a game show she liked. Mariah and Mandy sat on the floor, on either side of the family matriarch, like matching bookends, and watched as the clock on the paneled wall across the room ticked each minute closer to noon.

  “It’s time.” Alice rose and started setting the table—four plates, four forks, and four paper napkins.

  Mandy and Mariah knew what to do. They had practiced it several times over the last few weeks. Mandy pulled four glasses out of the upper cabinet and set them on the counter next to the refrigerator. One was larger than the rest and had a hairline crack going down the side. That one was for her daddy.

  Mar
iah opened the center drawer inside the refrigerator, pulled out the package of bologna, and removed four pieces. She hummed to herself as she twisted the tie off the loaf of white bread and counted out eight slices. She placed them side by side on the breadboard, then she put the loaf back into the cupboard. She generously spread yellow mustard on each slice of bread, followed by one piece of bologna. Four completed sandwiches lay in front of her. She took a large knife out of the block and cut each sandwich diagonally then placed them neatly on mismatched ceramic plates. Gripping each side of the bag of store-brand potato chips, she pulled at the seam and opened it. She poured the contents into a bowl and chomped on a handful of them while she worked.

  Mandy scowled at her sister. “Mama, Mariah is eating the chips.”

  Alice slapped Mariah’s hand. “That’s enough horsing around. Let’s get this done.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mariah lined up eight dill pickles on a plate and placed them on the center of the table by the chips.

  Alice fidgeted and pointed, counted and mumbled before deciding the table looked right. She tucked behind her ears the loose strands of hair that had fallen out of the two-day-old ponytail she wore. Mandy handed her mother a wet paper towel to wipe the bloodied scar she had mindlessly been scratching.

  “What’s this? Oh, thank you, sweet pea.” Alice hadn’t noticed her arm was bleeding. “Okay, put ice in the glasses but only one cube in your daddy’s. I don’t want to dilute his tea too much. Pour ours, then mix his with the antifreeze and stir it in real good. Hide the bottle behind the slow cooker but have it handy in case he wants a second glass. I’ll go tell him lunch is ready.”

  Dean Blakely came inside, washed his hands at the yellowed kitchen sink, and scrubbed them with dish soap until they were covered in frothy suds. He rinsed, and Alice handed him the tea towel off the oven door to dry his hands. Dean took his seat at the head of the table and scooted his chair in, then bowed his head and said the blessing.