Maniacal: A Detective Jade Monroe Crime Thriller Book 1 Page 6

  Jack’s Novocain wore off by noon. We ate at a burger joint right off the freeway. The food was good, and the service was fast.

  We arrived at the third district precinct just after one p.m. and were escorted to Lieutenant Colgate’s desk. He stood and shook our hands. According to the lieutenant, the home listings and addresses had been faxed over just minutes earlier. He called a deputy in the records department to bring them up.

  “We should have the listings in a few minutes,” he said.

  He excused himself to pull the jackets for Bobby James and LeJon Clyde. He returned five minutes later with the folders in hand. He slid them across his desk for us to page through and poured three coffees while we read the criminal sheets.

  “Wow, these guys are no joke. Why aren’t they in prison?” I asked.

  “They’ve both done time, but eventually they get out and go about committing more crimes. It isn’t long before they’re back in again. It’s like a revolving door with them.”

  “Do you think they’re good for a murder like this?” Jack asked. He ran his hand through his hair as we both waited for a response.

  “Murder, yes, but dumping a body an hour away, not so much. Neither of those boys have probably left Milwaukee county in their life, unless it was because they were incarcerated somewhere else.”

  “Okay, thanks for the insight. We’ll check out their alibis anyway just to be sure.”

  A female deputy entered the bull pen and handed the faxed vacant-house listings to the lieutenant.

  “Come on. Follow me,” he said. “There’s more room in the cafeteria.”

  He led the way, and over a table in the lunchroom, he laid out the paperwork and circled all the vacant houses within a ten-block radius.

  “Sergeant Monroe, just as a heads-up, these are the houses that have been reported as vacant by owners who walked away due to foreclosures and the like. There’s probably a good twenty-five percent more that haven’t been reported. They’re the ones that have just been abandoned with everything left behind. They’re the perfect place for homeless, drug dealers, and so on. You need to be careful. This search can be a daunting task for the two of you, and you could run into trouble at any of these places. Criminal activity is ongoing and brisk in this area.”

  “Apparently so,” I agreed. “How many houses did you circle?”

  “Twenty-seven, and there are likely ten more that weren’t recorded. As a professional courtesy and safety measure from department to department, I can spare four officers for the afternoon. I’d prefer it if each of you went with one of our fellas rather than together or alone. We know how crime works around here and how these criminals think. They’re fast and sketchy, and many of them are armed and on drugs.”

  I looked at Jack and nodded. “Let’s do it. We’re ready whenever your officers are. We’ll track down the boys later.”

  “Okay, let’s section these streets off on this list and divide up the properties,” Lieutenant Colgate said. He called in the officers that would assist us, introduced us, and explained the situation.

  I added, “We’re looking for blood and any obvious trace evidence for now, nothing more. If this gruesome murder took place in any of these houses on the ten-block grid, it will definitely stand out. The victim’s throat was slashed to the point of almost severing his spinal cord. There will be a mess. Let’s partner up and roll.”

  We divided up, joined the officers in their squad cars, and headed out. With the support we now had and the number of houses we had to search, we could feasibly be done with the ten-block quadrant in a few hours. If we didn’t find what we were looking for, we’d have to regroup and come up with a different plan.

  The officer I was searching with was John Tyler, in his fifth year at the police department. He was an ex-Marine and had served two tours in Afghanistan. He seemed friendly and had mentioned he was newly married with a six-month-old daughter named Lilly.

  We cleared the first house. Aside from it being a dilapidated mess, nothing else stood out. A few blocks later, we entered the second. The house stunk and was littered with drug paraphernalia, soiled blankets, rotting food, cigarette butts, and empty beer cans and bottles.

  “This place is hot—looks like the druggies are still using it,” John said. “We should take our time and see if there’s anything relevant to the case here.”

  I nodded.

  We searched through clothes and garbage and found nothing besides the obvious and an infestation of cockroaches scurrying about. I wrote down the address and the contents of the building in case we needed to return. We carried on. John radioed to the other officers—nothing yet.

  I checked the time after hearing my stomach growl. I hadn’t eaten since before I left my house this morning. My watch showed it was closing in on two thirty, but we continued on.

  We entered a two-story brick house with a blue plastic tarp covering part of the roof. Most likely a large hole was under that tarp. I’d been told that even in the city, raccoons could get in through openings and cause a lot of damage. All the upstairs windows had been boarded. We entered through the front door. The scent of moldy walls and carpet hit me as soon as we walked in, and it stung my nostrils. I covered my nose with the back of my left hand as we walked through the front rooms. Voices coming from the back of the house caused me to draw my service weapon from my shoulder holster. John drew his too. He nodded ahead to the room that was probably the kitchen. I acknowledged him and walked slowly in that direction. A closed wooden swinging door separated us from the voices on the other side. John took the lead as we approached. He leaned against the wall, his gun pointed at the doorway, and nodded. I readied myself, and with a sharp kick to the door, it flew open and smacked the wall behind it. Two black males stood at the kitchen counter, one counting money, the other with what looked like several ounces of weed.

  John blocked their exit to the back door, and I covered the door we had just broken through. We ordered them to the floor and hooked them up. John called it in, and another squad picked them up. We had more pressing things to do.

  We cleared the house and headed out. As we walked back to his cruiser, John’s radio squawked, and the officer Jack had paired up with said they had found something. They gave us the address, only seven blocks away, and we took off, red and blues lit and the siren singing.

  Police tape was already going up to cordon off the property’s perimeter when we arrived. The last squad car that was out with us pulled up to the curb behind our cruiser.

  “What have we got?” I asked as I stepped out of the car.

  Jack’s brow furrowed when he looked at me. “Over here, Jade. We found a bloody mess inside.”

  I stepped into the doorway at the back of the house and took in the sight. “This could be our scene,” I said. I ran my fingers through my hair. The sight in front of us told a violent, vicious story. Someone had met their death in that run-down room. We stayed near the door we entered, so as not to destroy possible evidence, and took in the scene. We stared at the massive amounts of dried blood that had sprayed forward and hit the cabinets, then continued down to pool at the counter. A five-foot wide area of blood stained the floor. I mentally tried to recreate how the murder took place. I snapped a few pictures with my cell phone, using the flash. We needed more light in the room, and the forensic team, immediately. With no electricity in the house, we might miss out on collecting some precious evidence. Even in the afternoon hours, the room was dimly lit.

  “Everyone, glove up. Let’s get these doors and windows open to get more light in here,” John said. He called out for an officer to radio the station. We needed a generator, lights, and the forensic team, ASAP. “How do you want to handle this, Sergeant?” he asked me. “Washburn County has the body, and we have the possible crime scene.”

  I stepped outside to think and John followed close behind. “Okay, John, let’s call your lieutenant and see what he wants to do. Jack, call Lieutenant Clark and give him the news. We do
n’t know yet if this blood belongs to Morris King. Only a DNA match is going to tell us that. Get Doug on the horn. Have him fax over everything he has on Morris so far to the third district’s crime lab. I’m pretty sure Morris’s blood profile is already done. To confirm this as our actual crime scene, we’ll need a definite match from a test sample here at the house.”

  A black car pulled up to the curb. Lieutenant Colgate and Detective Lindstrom stepped out. They approached us as we waited outside on the driveway for the forensic team to arrive.

  “Sergeant Monroe, Detective Steele.” Lindstrom nodded at us and shook our hands. “Guess we should take a peek. Forensics should be here in a few minutes. They had to load up a generator and lights in the van.”

  Bill Lindstrom and the lieutenant excused themselves and walked up several steps to look into the kitchen. I heard muffled cursing coming from one of them. They came back out a few minutes later, both shaking their heads.

  Lieutenant Colgate addressed us after he hung up from a call. “Sorry for the interruption. Gruesome scene, that’s for sure. I just spoke to the power company. They’re going to try to work with us to get electricity up and running again if they can. This house has been in shambles and vacant for over two years. We’re not quite sure if the wiring is still safe and viable. Animals often take over vacant houses and chew on things. The power company will check, and hopefully they can restore electricity, even if it’s temporary, while we work on this investigation.”

  We turned to hear another vehicle pull up and stop. The forensics van parked, and the team got out with their gear. Lieutenant Colgate addressed a few officers, asking them to lend a hand getting the generator out of the back and setting up with the portable lights.

  Detective Lindstrom spoke up. “I guess we should clear the area and let the team do what they do best. Let’s head back to the precinct and figure out how to go forward if the blood evidence does indeed belong to Morris King.”

  We followed Lieutenant Colgate and Detective Lindstrom back to the police station and gathered in the lieutenant’s office. With the door closed behind us and a fresh pot of coffee brewing, we pulled up the guest chairs and discussed what the next step would be.

  “The city of Milwaukee has a lot of resources, Sergeant Monroe,” Lieutenant Colgate said. “We don’t want to spread your local department too thin. The drive to Milwaukee every day to work this case would take you away from your own duties in Washburn County.” He pulled the coffee carafe from the brew station and filled our cups.

  “I appreciate the concern.” I crossed my right leg over my left and reached for my coffee cup. I took a sip. “What do you have in mind?”

  “If the blood in the house on Meinike Avenue comes up as a match to Morris’s, well, it’s a pretty good guess that we’ve found our crime scene. We can work it from there. He lived in Milwaukee. The crime, if the blood is a match, happened in Milwaukee. The only thing we’re missing is Morris’s body. His uncle intends to handle the funeral arrangements?”

  “Yes, he said he would,” Jack responded.

  “I’ll agree to release Morris’s body to you if the blood is a match. Of course, we’ll need approval from higher up. If your forensic team finds any trace evidence that might help us in our own county, we’ll need it. Also, as a professional courtesy, we’d like a phone call if you solve the case and actually apprehend Morris’s killer,” I said.

  “You got it, Sergeant. Our boys in the crime lab should be able to tell us if it’s a definitive match first thing in the morning, especially with Morris’s DNA already on file.”

  “Then I guess that should wrap it up on our end for now. Are your guys going to conduct the interviews with Bobby James and LeJon Clyde?”

  “Yep, I’ll get a couple of detectives on it right away,” Lieutenant Colgate said.

  Detective Lindstrom spoke up again. “I’ll do it. I’m familiar with them already. I’ll let you know how the interview goes.”

  “Thanks. Let’s catch up tomorrow,” I said.

  Jack and I stood, shook hands, and left. I looked at the clock in the car—six o’clock. I suggested stopping on our way back to grab a bite to eat.

  Jack found a decent restaurant right off the freeway, and he pulled in. We exited the car and seated ourselves in a booth. We ordered our much-needed meals and sat back, both of us exhaling a deep sigh. It had been a long day. The waitress brought over a fresh carafe of coffee and placed it on our table, smiled, and told us our orders should be up in just a few minutes.

  “So how do you feel about handing off Morris’s case?” Jack poured creamer in his coffee, stirred it, and passed the small stainless steel container over to me.

  “It’s the sensible thing to do if the blood in the house is actually his. If they do find relevant trace, we’re already working the case as a joint effort anyway.”

  “Yeah, I guess. I just hope this perp is caught quickly. Someone that vicious needs to be taken off the streets as soon as possible.”

  Chapter 10

  He sat in the basement, going over his notes from yesterday, a beer on the side table. Following Elise Adams home last night took him through town for several miles, then three miles of country roads before ending in a rural subdivision. He needed to avoid cameras and traffic if he was going to be successful. The best place to take her out would be after she turned left on Country-Aire Road. There was nothing but darkness on that two-mile stretch. He remembered seeing the sign for Glacier Hills County Park about a mile down that quiet road, void of houses. It would work out perfectly. Elise had a yoga class until nine, and he would be waiting for her afterward. The fun would happen on her drive home.

  It looks like we’re going to get to know each other up close and personal tonight, Elise. I’m looking forward to it. He chuckled, went upstairs, and clicked off the basement light, then made himself dinner. He had three hours to kill before showtime.

  Later as he drove to North Bend, he decided to watch for her from the Country Inn parking lot several blocks from the yoga studio. She had to pass the hotel to go home, and he knew the strip mall had camera surveillance. Her white Malibu would be easy to see, even at night. The city streetlights continued on for a mile beyond the hotel before rural darkness took over. The hotel had cameras too, but he’d already decided where to park. The cameras faced the main parking lot and hotel lobby. He’d park along the driveway at the back exit. The spot was perfect. He’d have access to the street and a good view of Elise when she drove by. His vehicle wouldn’t be on camera either.

  At 9:27, she appeared. She waited third in line at the red light in front of the hotel. He quickly jotted down the time, pulled the black hoodie up to conceal his face, then started his car and pulled out. He didn’t have to follow so closely this time—he knew her route. He’d pull her over on Country-Aire Road.

  The black gloves and his kill bag sat on the passenger seat. He would use his own tools only if absolutely necessary. He’d prefer to use her yoga gear—a fitting end, in a way—and nothing to tie him to the crime.

  He saw her left blinker flash—the time was near, and his heart was racing. He’d wait until he was close to the park entrance to make his move, about halfway down that eerily dark road. She was about four car lengths ahead of him when it was time to act. He sped up, swerved around her Malibu, and slammed on his brakes in the center of the road, forcing her to stop. His plan was in motion, and within a split second, he was at the driver’s side window.

  “Ma’am, help me, help me. Please, I need a cell phone. My wife is having a seizure in the car. I’m lost.”

  She stared, wide eyed and hesitant, before lowering her window.

  Wrong move, Elise. Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to stop on dark, deserted roads for a stranger? You fool.

  With his leather-gloved hand balled in a tight fist, he reached through the window, punched her face as hard as he could, and knocked her out. He looked down the road both ways—no headlights. This task needed to be comple
ted quickly and efficiently. With the driver’s door open, he shoved her across the console to the passenger seat and slid in. He adjusted the driver’s seat and drove the Malibu in through the park entrance, past the empty guard shack, and to the farthest end of the parking lot. He looked across the seat—she was still out. The dim interior light illuminated the shifter settings. He jerked the knob to Park, turned off the car, and got out. The night was quiet and dark with nobody around. He had Elise all to himself. Dime walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. In an instant, she coiled her legs and kicked him in the face. Dime staggered back.

  “Now you’re going to pay, you bitch.”

  He grabbed her ankles as she screamed and kicked, but another hard punch to the face silenced her. He checked the contents of her yoga bag and found exactly what he needed. Stretch cords, a mat, and a pair of black tights would do the trick. He pulled the headlamp out of his pocket and secured it around his head, then grasped each of her ankles and yanked her out of the car. Her head hit the doorsill with a loud thump, then he pulled her into the darkness. Dime trudged through a swampy area loaded with cattails, over the top of a ridge, and back down into a gully before releasing her legs and letting them drop to the ground. He unrolled the mat that was jammed into the front of his zipped jacket and spread it out, then took in his surroundings. A thick stand of trees and a lot of underbrush covered the ground in this secluded area. The location was perfect.

  He flopped her unconscious body onto the mat facedown and hog-tied her hands and feet behind her back with the stretch cords, then moved on to the tights. With the tights wrapped twice around her neck and his knee on her back for leverage, he pulled them toward him. Gurgles sounded from deep within her throat, and her body jerked in protest until the life was choked out of her, and she was dead. He released his grip, and her body fell forward with a thud. Dime covered her corpse with twigs, leaves, and branches he scoured from the area. He checked the time—9:55. Taking a different route back to her car would be smart, and there wouldn’t be noticeable disturbances in the ground cover. He didn’t want to make the cops’ job too easy for them.