Deadly Deception
Deadly Deception
by
C. M. Sutter
Copyright © 2020
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 over fifty writing groups and book clubs. In addition to writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and dog, and you’ll often find her writing in airports and on planes as she flies from state to state on family visits.
She is an art enthusiast and loves to create gourd birdhouses, pebble art, and handmade soaps. Gardening, bicycling, fishing, and traveling are a few of her favorite pastimes.
C. M. Sutter
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Deadly Deception: A Detective Jesse McCord Police Thriller, Book 7
The middle-of-the-night phone call is becoming a regular occurrence for Chicago homicide detective Jesse McCord. These calls rarely result in good endings, and after his latest three a.m. call, Jesse’s officially on the clock as he and his team begin a fast-paced hunt for a vicious killer.
Only one witness—a thirteen-year-old girl—has lived to give a description of the perpetrator, and that’s only from a split-second glimpse of the man. Even after he is on police radar, the killer finds a way to stay one step ahead of the detectives while leaving a slew of dead bodies in his wake.
A multistate chase brings the help that Jesse desperately needs, and once captured, the killer reveals the jaw-dropping explanation for his murderous rampage.
An act of jealousy and deception has set the wheels in motion, and the results are devastating, with seven innocent people needlessly killed.
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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 1
Carl hadn’t planned to murder the entire family that night, only the person he’d been paid ten thousand dollars to kill.
It was a contract hit for one that was supposed to have gone without incident. He’d taken the shotgun for insurance if necessary, but when he turned the corner into the darkened kitchen and came face-to-face with David Ramsey standing at the open refrigerator, the element of surprise vanished. Carl had to make a decision, and with only a split second to think, he pulled the trigger.
“Son of a bitch! This isn’t how it was supposed to go down. I wasn’t planning to use the gun!”
Hearing the second-story floorboards creak, he raced upstairs and nearly slammed into the son in the hallway. Wearing only his boxers and a white T-shirt, the young man froze, raised his hands, and cried out for mercy. Carl pumped the gun and fired a single shot at his chest. Falling backward, the son slid down the wall, his white T-shirt stained with crimson-red blood.
At Carl’s back, the squeak of door hinges caught his attention. He spun and saw the wife charging out of the master bedroom with a baseball bat in hand. He fired again, and she stumbled back before slumping to the floor.
Carl mentally calculated. He had been told it was a family of four but his target would be home alone. He could sneak in, kill the person with his bare hands, and be on his way. Everyone else was supposed to be out of town.
Mom, dad, and son. So where’s the girl?
She had to be somewhere in the house. He looked down the hall and noticed one more room. Inching closer, Carl saw a paper star taped to the center of the door, and Cassidy was written on it in green marker. Pressing his ear against the door, he heard crying coming from within the room.
She hasn’t seen me. Consider yourself lucky, kid. I’m out of here.
He turned his back, picked up the two plastic shell casings, and ran down the stairs to the kitchen. He grabbed that casing, too, pocketed them all, and exited the same way he came in—through the back door.
The cold fall night and the three-hundred-acre park behind the house were his friends. Fallen leaves hid his exit route, and the early frost hardened the ground. Nobody would see evidence of how he got there or how he left.
Carl plowed through the bushes, a difficult task while carrying a shotgun. He arrived at his car within twenty minutes, and with the gun secured in the trunk, he sped away. Somewhere off the freeway, he would stop at an all-night diner, have coffee, calm his nerves, and be home before daybreak. He relived the last hour as he took the I-90/94 interstate north toward Bucktown.
Nothing went according to plan, and I’m lucky to be alive. That wife could just as easily have had a gun in her hand as a baseball bat.
Outraged, Carl punched the dashboard.
Mr. Hotshot has some explaining to do.
Carl was told the family would be out of town from Wednesday afternoon through Saturday night and he could make his move whenever he wanted during that time frame.
Obviously, those plans changed. Killing the target should have been a five-minute job, a no-brainer and quick, but now the slaughter of three family members will be front-page news throughout the Midwest.
Luckily, a vacant lot stood next to the Ramsey house, and their home was the last on the street that dead-ended at Marquette Park.
Carl hoped that the vacant lot had provided enough of a sound barrier that none of the neighbors had heard three gunshots when h
e hadn’t planned on firing any.
Twenty minutes later, he took the exit indicated on the billboard advertising the all-night restaurant off the freeway. After pulling into a parking spot near the front of the restaurant, Carl stared through the floor-to-ceiling window. The place looked busy enough that he ought to go unnoticed. He wouldn’t stand out more than any other customer who came in off the interstate for a bite to eat and a hot cup of joe. He checked the time on the dash before killing the engine—4:03 a.m. He’d be home and taking a two-hour power nap by five o’clock.
After removing his phone from the charger, Carl sent off a scathing text to the person who had hired him. He wanted answers and expected another face-to-face meeting that morning. A phone conversation from the man couldn’t be trusted. Carl had no idea if a recorded double-cross was planned, and he wouldn’t put himself in a vulnerable position like that. Having killed for pay before, he didn’t intend to get caught or give anybody ammunition to use against him. There was also the issue of money. Due to bad intel, three people had died that night, and he expected to be paid for all of them. He would remind the person behind the scenes that it wouldn’t be wise to cross Carl Lyndon.
Chapter 2
My phone ringing in the dead of night was never a good sign, and unfortunately, it was becoming a habit. I swatted the nightstand until I felt the phone’s shape then brought it close to my face. My reading glasses weren’t handy, but a hard squint allowed me to read the number on the screen. It was Lutz, and nobody in their right mind—other than him—would call me in the middle of the night.
My voice cracked as I answered. “What’s up, Boss?”
“The usual. No, make that worse than the usual. It’s bad, Jesse.”
I sat up in bed and gave Lutz my full attention. “What happened?”
“A 911 call came in a few minutes ago from a hysterical girl. She said an intruder broke into their house and killed her parents and brother. Patrol units should be arriving any minute, and I’m backing out of my garage as we speak.”
“Okay, text me the address. I’m climbing out of bed right now.”
The GPS coordinates on my phone showed a due west direction and a half-hour drive to the home on South California Avenue where the killings took place. All I needed to wake up was three minutes in the shower and thirty seconds to brush my teeth. I dressed, filled Bandit’s dish with kibble, and took off.
I made a quick stop at the corner gas station, grabbed a large coffee, then continued on. The crime scene’s location was adjacent to Marquette Park, and as soon as I reached the end of the street, I saw two squad cars along the curb. After parking, I took the sidewalk to the front door and entered. The entire house was lit up like a Christmas tree, and two of the four officers at the scene sat in the living room with a girl who couldn’t have been more than twelve. I waved one of the officers over.
In a low voice, I asked him for the status of the scene.
“We’ve cleared the house, and Officers Jeeter and Conway are stationed at the back.” He glanced at the girl on the couch, who wore a blanket around her shoulders. “Poor kid. She’s the one who made the 911 call after her folks and brother were shot.”
I checked the officer’s ID badge. “Where are the bodies, Nelson?”
He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “The father is in the kitchen, the son is upstairs in the hallway, and the mom is just outside the master bedroom door. We haven’t touched anything, Detective McCord, and Commander Lutz said he, the medical examiner, and the forensic team were on their way.”
“Yep, I spoke with Lutz thirty minutes ago. Have you interviewed the girl yet?”
He shook his head. “She gave us the gist of what she heard, but there’s no sense in making her relive the details multiple times. I thought it best if you did most of the questioning.”
“Good thinking.” I pointed at the staircase then gloved up. “Show me where the bodies are.”
I followed Officer Nelson up the stairs, where the hallway split left and right. To my left, the son was propped against the wall and riddled with buckshot. His shirt and the wall behind him were spattered with blood. I took in a deep breath, knelt at his side, and shook my head as I looked at the devastation inflicted on his torso. The shooter had to have been within ten feet of him.
“The kid didn’t have a chance. Hit center mass.” I pushed off my knee and stood. “The mom?”
“Behind you at the other end of the hallway.”
I turned to see the mother slumped over with a baseball bat lying at her side.
“A baseball bat is no match for a shotgun.” Just like her son, she was shot center mass. “Where is the daughter’s room?”
“Farther down, beyond the son’s bedroom.”
I watched my footing as I passed the young man and continued down the hall. The bedroom, with a star on the door and the name Cassidy centered on it, was the last room. A bathroom was situated between her bedroom and the son’s room.
“What was the son’s name?”
“Lucas, and he was nineteen. His twentieth birthday was coming up next Thursday, according to the sister.”
“That’s a real shame.” I tipped my head toward the stairs. “Okay, show me where the father is.”
“Right this way.”
Lutz entered the house as we descended the stairs. He had just arrived and was closing the front door behind him.
“What’s the word?” he asked.
“Shotgun.”
He groaned. “Damn it, messier than shit but smart. No ballistics. See any casings?”
“Not so far.” I tipped my head toward the kitchen. “May as well join us. Nelson was about to show me where the father is.”
“Do we know what order they were killed in?”
“Nah, although the dad is the only victim on the first floor, so I’d say he was killed first. Biggest threat needs to be taken out right away.”
We entered the kitchen, and the dead father was lying partially in the open refrigerator.
“What the hell?” Lutz moved in to take a closer look. “So he was in the kitchen and checking out options for a midnight snack?”
I nodded. “Sure looks that way. Shooter comes in with plans to kill him or all of them while they slept but comes across the dad in the kitchen instead. That would explain why the kid and mom were found near their bedroom doors. They heard the gunshot and instinctively ran out of their rooms only to find the killer already heading their way.”
Lutz let out a sigh. “We’ll learn more as soon as Don, Mike, and Danny arrive, but so far, that sounds completely logical. Where’s the daughter?”
“In the living room. I’ll start questioning her now unless you want me to show you the victims upstairs.”
“Nope, I’ve got it. Go ahead and start talking to the girl. The rest of the crew should be here any minute.”
I entered the living room where the girl sat on the couch. With red swollen eyes, she huddled under the blanket, and her expression of fear and hopelessness broke my heart. In an instant, she had gone from sleeping soundly in what she likely thought was the safety of her home to having an intruder wipe out her entire family. It made me wonder why she was spared.
I took a seat on the wingback chair that faced the couch, gave Officer Grimes a nod that I would be taking over, and waited until he left the room before I began.
“I’m Detective McCord. What’s your name?” I pulled a pen and my notepad from my inner jacket pocket and folded the pages over to a clean sheet. I waited until she was ready.
“I’m Cassidy.”
“Nice to meet you, Cassidy. How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
I was close in my earlier assumption. “I know this is going to be a difficult conversation, but I’ll need you to walk me through everything you saw and heard. It’s very important that we catch the person who broke into your home as soon as possible, and the police really need your help. Can you do that for me?”
She gave me a weak nod.
“Okay, good. Why don’t you just begin with whatever it was that woke you up?”
“I heard Lucas yelling. I jumped out of bed and ran to my door, but then a loud bang went off.”
I wrote that down. “So probably a gunshot?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you hear a gunshot before that or nothing until Lucas yelled?”
“Nothing before that.”
I assumed that since her bedroom was the last one at the end of the hall and the farthest from the kitchen, there was a good chance that she slept through her father being shot. Lucas’s bedroom was only ten feet or so from hers.
“Do you remember what Lucas yelled out?”
Tears ran down her cheeks as she recalled his words. “He yelled, ‘Please don’t shoot me,’ and then I heard the gun go off.”
“What happened after that?”
“I hid under my bed.”
I called out to Grimes to find a box of tissues and bring it to me. Cassidy was a mess, and I was sure she was about to get worse. She had to know questions about her mother’s death were coming next. When Grimes handed me the tissues, I gave him a thank-you nod, then I placed the box on the coffee table near Cassidy. “Are you okay to continue?”
She reached for a tissue and blew her nose. “Yeah.”
“You’re doing just fine, Cassidy. I know this is really hard.” I waited until she looked up and gave me a nod, then I asked my next question. “So tell me what happened after Lucas was shot.”
“I heard my mom’s voice, but I couldn’t make out her words. It only took a second, and then I heard another gunshot.”
“So there was only two shots that you heard?”
“Yes, only two, and then the back door slammed.”