Murder! Too Close To Home Read online

  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 liqui
d 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 par
k 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.”