Imperious
Imperious
by
C. M. Sutter
Copyright © 2018
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 Florida, 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 friends and family. She is an art enthusiast and loves to create gourd birdhouses, pebble art, and handmade soaps. Hiking, bicycling, fishing, and traveling are a few of her favorite pastimes.
C. M. Sutter
http://cmsutter.com/
Contact C. M. Sutter
Sign up for C. M. Sutter’s newsletter
Imperious: A Psychic Detective Kate Pierce Crime Thriller, Book 2
Two female students at a community college have died during finals week, and the college and the city of North Bend want answers. With no witnesses to the crime and no obvious signs of foul play, these disturbing occurrences may be nothing more than unusual coincidences. The sheriff’s office and medical examiner have their hands full as they try to find logical explanations for the deaths.
Detective Kate Pierce begins to show signs of physical distress whenever she’s near the bodies, and further research leads her to believe she could be experiencing psychic transference—she’s feeling the same symptoms these students did when they took their last breaths.
Kate is determined to be heard, and when the shocking results of the toxicology reports are revealed, she and her colleagues know they’re headed down the right path. There can be only one answer and only one person involved—they just have to prove it.
When another student goes missing and is soon found dead, the case breaks wide open, and the final showdown between Kate and the suspect puts her transference theory to the ultimate test.
See all of C. M. Sutter’s books at:
http://cmsutter.com/available-books/
Find C. M. Sutter on Facebook at:
https://www.facebook.com/cmsutterauthor/
Don’t want to miss C. M. Sutter’s next release? Sign up for the VIP e-mail list at:
http://cmsutter.com/newsletter/
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 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 1
He flicked the cigarette butt out the window and munched three aspirin without water. As he kept an eye on Becca’s door, he thought back to that fateful day two years ago. Today was Monday, and a new week of final exams was about to begin.
Becca’s apartment was several hundred feet away, and from that distance, she wouldn’t notice his vehicle. He was a patient man and would wait for her to drive away in that rust bucket of hers, turn left at the lights, and head toward the freeway. Becca wouldn’t dare miss her exams, and she’d be gone most of the day. He would have plenty of opportunity to do what had to be done, yet he needed only a few minutes.
The memories of Isabelle’s demise flooded his mind as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He grimaced as he remembered the look on her face when she’d realized something was terribly wrong, yet five minutes before, things had been fine—or so she thought. She clenched her throat and gasped after she took that first swallow. With horror written across her face, she stared at the drink he handed her. He spewed something at her about payback being a bitch. He watched as she frantically tried to breathe, but her airways were closing, and her fate was sealed. Blood spots filled the whites of her eyes, and her lips went from a healthy pink to a grayish blue. The cyanide worked, and her swollen tongue confirmed it. Her own body had suffocated her. It was too late for Isabelle; the deed was done, and she died a frightful and agonizing death.
Cyanide poisoning was extremely rare, and he couldn’t risk having her body found. An autopsy would surely reveal the manner of death. He’d prepared a bath of special ingredients and carried Isabelle to the bathroom. With gloved hands, he lowered her into the lye-filled tub. Her body would be completely dissolved by the week’s end. He knew it would take years before her life insurance policy paid out but it would be well worth it. She had a two-million-dollar policy, and until then, he’d do fine on his own.
That was then, and this was now. Since he was in a different city and using a different name, nobody knew his past or what he was capable of doing when wronged. He had nothing to lose.
Movement at Becca’s door brought him back to the moment. She was leaving.
There you are, you little bitch.
He rubbed his hands together in excitement as he watched her exit the ground-floor apartment and climb into her car. Two years had gone by without that feeling of power. He needed it again and was ready to kill—it was time. Now with a valid reason to kill, he had several people in mind. They deserved death just as much as Isabelle had. He didn’t take betrayal lightly.
He felt at ease in Becca’s apartment, and as the owner, he had access to every unit in that eight-apartment building. He turned the key and walked inside. Memories of their few intimate times together filled his mind yet enraged him. He knew in his heart that she despised him, but he needed to stay focused on the task at hand. Becca was about to die since her threat of exposing their arrangement didn’t sit well with him. He was calling the shots, not her, and she would find that out the hard way.
<
br /> He opened the thermal bag he’d brought along and browsed through the sealed containers. He needed to use something that would kill her in less than twenty-four hours, but he had no idea what she’d eat or drink later when she was back from her exams. He grabbed a chair from the two-seat table in the corner of the galley kitchen, pulled open the refrigerator, and took a seat while examining everything inside. With the bag on his lap, he twisted the lids off several containers. He added clostridium botulinum to her milk, coffee creamer, and jug of filtered water, and castor beans to the three-bean salad that sat on the shelf. He knew her evening and morning routines. Melatonin with a glass of water helped her sleep at night. A bowl of cereal and coffee with cream were her staples in the morning, and dinnertime was anyone’s guess, but the container of deli bean salad told him she might enjoy some of it that evening.
Satisfied that his job was done, and now all he had to do was wait, he locked the apartment door behind him and returned to North Bend. A sinister smile lit his face as he drove to the west side of town. No matter what, Becca would die a painful death within twenty-four hours.
She deserves the agony she’ll go through before she dies, and I hope there’s plenty of it.
He wondered what he could do to witness her demise.
Chapter 2
As she drove toward North Bend Tuesday morning, Becca hoped to massage away the stomachache that was increasing rapidly. She would have stayed in bed that day if it weren’t for her exams, and now, the ten-mile drive to the university seemed like a hundred.
What the hell is wrong with me?
She thought about the carryout calzone that she’d had the previous night from Pizza Pie, a local restaurant only a block from the efficiency apartment she rented. It was delicious, but now she wondered if it had made her sick. She knew the salad was good since she’d had a small portion just the night before last, and the label said the expiration date wasn’t until four more days.
But can I possibly have food poisoning?
The nausea overwhelmed her, and the ringing in her ears was getting louder. That bitter taste of bile climbed up her throat and made her gag. Becca held her breath and willed away the urge to vomit.
I’ve got to get to the hospital. This pain is unbearable. I can’t take it anymore.
She pressed the gas pedal deeper against the floor, and the car sped down Highway 45, passing dozens of morning commuters.
She frantically grabbed the cell phone from her purse and tried to read the names on her contact list, but each one blurred into the next. Becca pressed every name in a wild attempt to reach someone, but the stabbing pain stiffened her body, and her vision faded into blackness. Her muscles began to seize. The car swerved right and then left and sent her across the median into oncoming traffic.
Tires squealed, and drivers took to the gravel shoulder to avoid colliding with her. One car hit the ditch and flipped before landing upside down on its roof. Another hit the rear end of the car ahead of it, then a semi, trying to avoid the cars, jackknifed and took out two vehicles in a violent explosion. The early morning normal was interrupted by crunching metal, cars in flames, a semi on its side, and a car smashed into a tree and on the wrong side of the highway. As smoke poured out from under the hood of her crumpled car, Becca sat motionless, her face pressed into the airbag.
Chapter 3
Concerned citizens raced from their cars to render aid to the injured while others snapped pictures and bystanders called 911.
The emergency lines were flooded with incoming calls. Patrol deputies and ambulances were dispatched to the scene of what was described as a horrific multicar pileup on Highway 45 in the northbound lanes. Silver and Donnelly were the first of the patrol units on the scene, and three ambulances and a fire truck arrived seconds later. The emergency vehicles pulled to the shoulder, and the EMTs rushed to the cars that looked to be in the worst condition while firemen with extinguishers ran to the cars engulfed in flames.
Silver leapt from his car and pointed toward the ditch. “Holy shit. That car smashed against the tree is facing oncoming traffic. It had to be what caused this mess.” He shielded his eyes and looked out across the median. “Yep, see those deep ruts? They’re heading in this direction. We need Forensics out here to photograph the scene.”
Donnelly let out a whistle as he walked the shoulder and scanned left to right, assessing the devastation. “I’m counting seven demolished vehicles, including the semi that’s blocking two lanes. If we don’t get the debris and disabled cars off the road, there’s going to be even more crashes.” Screeching brakes sounded behind them. He pointed at the bottleneck starting on the road to their rear. “We need to block off the two outside lanes and fast. Give the county road crew a call and tell them they’re needed out here ASAP. The traffic needs to be diverted to the inside lanes a good mile back. Tell them to set up barricades to funnel drivers into the far-left lanes. We need more units out here too to slow down the traffic.” Donnelly looked to see if every smashed car had an EMT attending the injured. He tipped his head toward the people standing alongside their vehicles—there were five in total. “I’ll get started on the witness statements.” He headed toward a man on the opposite side of the road, standing next to a white Ford Explorer. “I’ll take him.”
The man, leaning against his driver’s-side front fender, smoked a cigarette and stared at the EMTs across the road as they worked on freeing Becca from her car.
Donnelly pulled out his notepad as he ran toward the SUV. “Sir, did you witness the accident?”
The man took a deep drag and nodded.
“I’ll need to see your ID if you don’t mind.”
The man complied and pulled his driver’s license from his wallet and handed it to Tim.
Donnelly jotted down the information and gave the card back to him. “Can you walk me through what happened?”
The witness let out a sigh and dropped the cigarette to the gravel in front of him, then he ground the butt back and forth with the toe of his shoe. “Never saw anything like it in my life. I was sure more cars on that side of the road were going to get tangled up in the crash, but most of them parted on both sides of that oncoming car. It reminded me of that movie where Moses parted the Red Sea.”
Donnelly scratched his head. “The Ten Commandments? You some kind of biblical scholar?”
The man ignored the comment. “Obviously, I was going the same direction as the person who caused the accident, but I was lucky. Being several car lengths behind them, I saw everything unfold. I hit the brakes so hard my vehicle began to skid. Even from this side of the road, I could tell that everyone was locking up their brakes. I don’t think anyone could believe their eyes.”
“Understood. So, what did you actually witness?”
The man tipped his head toward Becca’s car. “Is that person dead?”
Tim looked over his left shoulder and saw the rescue team using the extraction tool on the driver’s-side door. “I don’t have any information yet, sir. Can you give me the actual details of what took place?”
“Just a normal morning when out of nowhere, I saw that car swerve violently left and right. Suddenly it veered left, plowed through the median, and headed right for the northbound lanes. Horns blared, brakes squealed, and cars went every which way. A good six or seven of them smashed into each other, a couple exploded, and there’s that upside-down one too. But when that semi jackknifed—well, that was just like in the movies.” He shielded his eyes and peered across the median. “Those people have to be pretty messed up.”
“The EMTs are assisting the injured, sir.”
The man shook his head. “It was over with in a few seconds. The red car that caused the mess went straight for that big oak tree.” He pointed. “And there it sits with smoke pouring out of it.”
Silver interrupted the conversation. “The county crew should be here in a couple of minutes. They’ll close the two right lanes and keep the two inside lanes open.” He noticed a woman
pacing alongside her vehicle on the shoulder of the northbound lane. “I’ll get her statement.”
Donnelly turned back to the man. “Did you notice brake lights when the car veered across the median?”
“Humph… can’t say that I did.”
“Okay, thanks. I guess that’s all the questions I have. If you think of anything else, please contact the Washburn County Sheriff’s Office and reference this accident.”
“Sure thing.”
Donnelly crossed the median then turned back and watched the man drive away. He cupped his mouth and called out to Derrick Gray, the head EMT. “What have we got on that red car?”
Derrick watched as his colleagues lifted Becca onto the gurney and wheeled her to the back of the first ambulance. He shook his head. “She’s gone. We called it at eight thirteen.” He rubbed his chin as if something weighed heavily on his mind.
“Derrick, is there a problem?”
“Not quite sure. She was wearing her seat belt, and the airbag did its job. It seems off.”
“Off how?”
“Like she shouldn’t be dead. She didn’t collide with any other cars, only the tree. Direct impact with properly working airbags—which they were—would usually result in a collapsed lung, possible head injury, and maybe a few broken ribs, but dead at the scene, especially a young person? That doesn’t feel right.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a cell phone then handed it to Donnelly. “This was under her body. Texting while driving could have caused the accident, but that still doesn’t explain her being deceased by the time we arrived.”
Donnelly huffed. “Damn cell phones and kids. They can’t seem to understand how dangerous it is to drive and text, let alone that it’s illegal in Wisconsin. Did you get an ID?”