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  The other name he had interest in was Collin Glover. The bald, stout fifty-year-old was a local attorney who specialized in ambulance chasing. If there was a major accident of any type involving injured persons, Collin was at the hospital, handing out his card to anyone within ten feet. If anyone deserves to die, it’s this guy. Brandon printed out the profile information for both, then minimized the screen. Opening another browser window, he checked his e-mail. He deleted one message at a time until he stopped at one in particular.

  Outstanding. Brandon clicked on the link, opening it. A separate window appeared. He typed in his user name and password. A few seconds later, Brandon was staring at the administrator page for Langston Security Solutions. He scanned the numerous menus, clicking on the correct tab. A list of highlighted names replaced the previous screen. Brandon worked his way through each, stopping at one that seemed familiar. I know him.

  He moved the cursor to the minimized window and studied his friends list. This is the guy. Brandon browsed the photo section of the profile, but the only one available was a framed snapshot of an older model tan Chevrolet Caprice. Likes his privacy. He hit the button to take him to the information about you section of the profile and found the paragraph he wanted.

  Brandon switched back to the list of names, quickly finding the contact information for the man. He picked up his desk phone and dialed.

  A groggy voiced answered. “Donovan Petrie speaking.”

  “Mr. Petrie, this is Brandon Thornley from Langston Security Solutions. How are you this morning?”

  “Hello, Mr. Thornley. I’m doing great! Just a little tired from a late night.”

  Brandon laughed. “We all have those. Say, the reason I’m calling you is this…we are down a few positions in the Security Department, and I reviewed your online application. I wanted to see if you could come for a personal interview?”

  “Sir, the answer is yes. When do you want me there?”

  Brandon glanced at his watch. “Meet me at the downtown office at three o’ clock this afternoon.”

  “You got it, sir. I really appreciate the opportunity.”

  “No worries, Donovan…can I call you Donovan?”

  Donovan laughed. “Of course. I haven’t been in the industry for a few years…sort of got sidetracked.”

  “Well, I went over your scenario-based questions, and I like what I see. Now, let’s save a few things for our meeting, okay?” Best candidate on paper.

  Donovan hesitated. “Of course. It would be an honor to work for you.”

  “Don’t be late then…and we’ll see how everything goes.”

  Donovan chuckled. “No way will I be late.”

  “Excellent. See you then, Donovan.” Brandon placed the receiver in the cradle. Now, back to other pressing matters.

  He took the photocopies of Melody Slavine and Collin Glover and placed them side by side. Brandon gazed at the two for a considerable amount of time until he had them engraved into his memory. Normally, he would just decide, but today, it was time for something a little different. He stood up from the chair, opened the door, and walked down the hall, where his wife was still sleeping. Her long, brown hair was spilling out from underneath the sheets. So beautiful.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, kissing her on the neck. “Carina, time to get up…don’t want you late for your meeting.”

  Carina giggled. “Hey, you. Why in heaven are you up already?”

  Brandon unrolled her blanket, exposing the black chemise, then lowered his head. “Sorry about last night…had a lot of work to do.”

  Carina yawned, then rubbed his face. “My dear, you can make it up to me…now.”

  Not what I had planned. “Tell you what, if you’ll help me with something first, I’m all yours.”

  Carina sighed. “Hmm, you need my help? That’s a first.”

  “Ouch. Yes…I do.”

  She shrugged. “Okay, but after…you are mine, Brandon Gregory Thornley.”

  Brandon crossed his heart. “Promise.”

  She got up, and he led her into his private office. “Okay, I have a little dilemma.”

  Carina smiled. “You have a dilemma? We better hurry to the doctor and get you checked out.”

  Brandon ignored her. “No, I have two people who I can do a blog on but can’t decide.”

  “Really?” Carina raised an eyebrow.

  Brandon nodded. “Yeah, the first is, Melody Slavine.” He handed her the photocopy.

  Carina tapped the picture. “Oh, she is the young artist who has all the god-awful billboards throughout town.”

  Not looking good, Melody. Brandon handed her the second photo. “What about this one?”

  Carina’s face turned red. “Wretched bastard, he cost the hospital over a million dollars for a slip and fall. We lost several staff due to that bugger.”

  Uh-oh, Collin. “I knew he was an attorney. Wasn’t aware you had any dealings with him.”

  “Most hideous creature, that one.” She flipped Collin Glover’s photo on the desk. Carina regained her composure. “What’s the blog about, anyway?”

  Brandon quickly came up with something. “Well, the topic is personal security for local people in the media.”

  “Use that man…he would need an entire police force to keep him safe.”

  That wouldn’t even be enough to stop me. Brandon laughed. “I guess it’s settled then. Collin is the man.”

  Carina grabbed his hand. “Speaking of someone being the man…I think you owe me something.”

  Brandon sheepishly smiled. “Give me a few minutes…and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. Now, mister.”

  “Okay, you’re right…this other work will wait until later.”

  He followed her, his mind somewhere else. Collin Glover, step up: you’re the next contestant in my game of death.

  Chapter Eleven

  Donovan Petrie entered through the glass doors and grabbed a cart from the rack. He had only gotten a few feet into the discount store when a gray-haired man dressed in an orange vest hurried towards him.

  “Happy holidays. Do you need any help, sir?”

  Don’t have time for this. Donovan forced a smile. “Um, no, I just need a few things.”

  “You sure?” The man reached in his vest pocket and handed him a candy cane.

  “Thanks, but I don’t eat candy.” Donovan gritted his teeth. “I’m fine; others may need you, though.” He pointed at a young woman with two small children. He handed the red and white striped treat back to the man. “Give this to one of them.”

  The man nodded, making a beeline for the other customer.

  Donovan pushed the cart through several aisles, grabbing the occasional grocery item as he tried to fit in with other shoppers. However, once he made a turn into the house wares section, his obsession overtook him.

  The display was filled with knives of all sizes. This is what I came for. Donovan gazed at several and was lost in thought when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

  “Sir, are you looking for something in particular?”

  Donovan turned, facing the employee. Fucking nice. The girl was maybe in her late teens or early twenties, and her body was nearly perfect. The tan polo pulled tight against her breasts, barely allowing the lower button to fasten. The dark khaki shorts showed off her well-defined legs, causing Donovan to get excited.

  He stared at her gold nametag. “Hi, Amanda. Just looking to find a nice gift for the relatives.”

  She caught him looking at her chest but ignored it. “I know we just got box set of these ones here.” She pulled a knife from the shelf and handed it to him. “Very good quality and they have a lifetime warranty.”

  I could kill her with one stroke. “Wow, it feels pretty light, too.” He held the blade with both hands.

  She folded her arms. “I know…you want me to go grab a box from the warehouse?”

  “How many come in a set?”

  “Ten, usually.
You probably don’t need any more. I wouldn’t think.” She grinned.

  Never can have enough. Donovan inspected the steel. “No, ten is just right.” He put the knife into his cart. “I’ll even get one for myself. Amanda, I think you have yourself a sale. Would you take them to the front, and I’ll pick them up? I need a few more items.” Nails, electrical tape, and frozen pizza.

  “Sure, give me like five minutes.”

  “Okay, thank you again, Amanda.”

  Her smile faded. “Um, no problem…glad I could help.” She rushed from the aisle.

  Donovan reached up and grabbed two more of the blades. Now I have what I need. He pushed the cart through several more aisles and found the electrical tape and heavy duty nails. Donovan made his way to the checkout lane and was putting his purchases on the conveyor belt when he realized something was missing. Shit. He piled everything back in the cart and waved for the next person in line to take his place.

  A few minutes later, he was standing in front of the frozen food section, searching the shelves for his favorite snack. Supreme with extra cheese. Can’t beat that. Donovan turned to his cart but was distracted by a two loud voices: a man and a woman. They were on the opposite side of the aisle, but their anger was noticed by other customers as they hurried by. The man was over six feet tall with mid-shoulder blond hair. He was covered in dark leather and a cast covered his right arm. The focus of his anger was a petite woman with brown hair. She was dressed in the same fashion, but her tough exterior appeared to be a façade. She was backed up against another refrigeration unit and appeared to be crying.

  He’s not very nice. Donovan slowed his cart, stopping just a few feet from the two.

  The man whirled around. “What the fuck do you want?”

  Temper, temper. Donovan pointed. “Just need to get some frozen onion rings and a pizza.”

  “We’re having a conversation…can you come back?” The man glared.

  Donovan shook his head, pointing to his watch. “Not really; I have somewhere to be.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed as he stepped aside. “Fine, get your goddamn shit then.”

  “Thanks.” He picked up the two items, tossing them in the cart.

  The man kept staring at him but said nothing as Donovan walked away. He was almost to the check out counter when he noticed a uniformed police officer standing near a soda machine. The hairs on his neck began to tingle, and his mouth suddenly became dry. Relax.

  Regaining his composure, he approached the officer. I can’t pass this up. Donovan smiled. “Sir, I think there might be something going on by the frozen food section.”

  The officer seemed young, and the idea of something happening in his jurisdiction put him on alert.

  “Sir, what do you mean something?”

  Be convincing. Donovan moved closer. “Looks like maybe a domestic violence situation.”

  The officer frowned. “You got a description for me?” He pulled out a notepad.

  Of course. “A man and woman, dressed in black leather. He’s got blond hair past his collar. She really looked upset.”

  “Okay, thanks for letting me know. I’ll check it out.” The officer hurried away.

  Now the fun begins. Donovan paid for his items and headed to his car. After putting everything in the trunk, Donovan sat down behind the wheel and waited. A few minutes later, the officer appeared with the man and woman trailing behind. The officer spoke to them for a few minutes, then turned and left the area. The blond man looked enraged as he stared out into the parking lot, looking for his accuser. They stopped a few rows from him, getting into a late-model yellow Mustang. The car screeched out of the lot, with Donovan following from a safe distance.

  Several miles later, the Mustang turned into a residential street cluttered with broken-down vehicles and tipped over garbage cans. Nice neighborhood, Donovan thought. They continued down the block until finally stopping in front of an ancient two story. The paint appeared to be chipped away on most of the exterior, and the glass from all the windows had been replaced with slabs of wood. Shouldn’t be too difficult to break in there.

  Donovan turned off the engine and watched as the two exited the vehicle, apparently engaged in another argument. When he felt it was safe, he drove by the Mustang, scribbling the license plate information on an unused napkin. Donovan quickly checked out the surrounding house, making several mental notes. He smiled to himself. Sometimes easy prey just drops right in your lap.

  Chapter Twelve

  Patrick Morgan sorted through the stacks of folders on his desk in search of the file on Justus Alleandro. Poor Justus…horrible way to go. The Davenport Police didn’t hesitate to overnight the much needed information, especially since Commander Cromartie mentioned the killer had struck here twice. Patrick was almost finished with the pile when something sailed through the air from behind and landed right in front of him.

  “Hey!” He turned.

  Commander Cromartie stood there, arms crossed. “I went through this whole fucking file…take a look, and tell me what you think.”

  Patrick flipped open the folder. “I’ll give you a heads up if I find something.”

  “Just got a call. I gotta meeting with the Chief and the media. Call the cell if you find anything at all.”

  Media? Not good. “Good luck with that. You plan to mention all the details of the crime scene to them?”

  Cromartie buttoned his coat. “Not if we don’t have to…pray we don’t.”

  Patrick shook his head. “No thanks.”

  “Oh, I forgot…that’s not your thing.” Cromartie snickered.

  No, it really wasn’t. “I’m a fact guy…you should know by now.”

  Cromartie leaned over him, pointing to the color photos of Justus Alleandro. “I sure as hell hope he believed in something. See you later.” He walked out of the office.

  Patrick grabbed one of the photographs. Justus Alleandro apparently was taking a shower when the killer found him. Different this time. His arms were extended over his head, and he was fastened in place to the light blue shower wall by two sets of industrial-sized nails. One was on the top of the feet. The trademark signature of this killer. The other was where both hands met as they were extended. One nail piercing two hands. Where was the barbwire? Patrick unclipped the narrative from the other side of the folder, scouring it, in search of the witness list.

  Nothing at all. The statement of the first officer on scene reported an unknown caller had left an anonymous tip about the body. How convenient. Patrick flipped through the other pages, looking for the call logs from the dispatch center. Not a fucking thing here. Cromartie didn’t go through the whole log, or he would have noticed it.

  Patrick jumped up and headed for Cromartie’s office. Shit. He thought about turning around when he saw the gray-haired Margie Stapleton sitting at her desk. She was Cromartie’s administrative assistant, but to the Commander, she was much more than that. Patrick remembered the night he had to pick up a prescription for Kelsey and stopped at the station to check on a case he was working. He accidentally walked in on the two as they were engaged in the highest level of quid pro quo. The two tried to play it off, but ever since then, Margie would hardly speak with Patrick.

  He stopped in front of her, holding up the file. “Hey, Margie, can you tell me if there are more pages to this file?”

  Margie adjusted her glasses as she kept typing. “Detective, what you have there is what came in this morning.”

  Always makes me feel like I’m a child. “Well, I wasn’t sure…couldn’t find any dispatcher logs—”

  She stopped typing. “Then they didn’t send any.” Margie looked up and resumed with the keyboard.

  Maybe another approach. “You know, I never said a word about you and the Commander. It’s not my business. I would, however, really appreciate it if you could check for a cover letter.” He smiled.

  Margie removed her glasses, placing them on the table. “The package came right to him this morni
ng.” She stood up and opened the door to Cromartie’s office. A few minutes later, she returned, handing him a piece of paper. “I think this might be what you are looking for.”

  No doubt knowledge is power. Patrick nodded. “Thanks. I’ll get it back to you.”

  “Patrick, this is big case for him.” Margie lowered her head.

  “It is for all of us.” Patrick walked back to his desk. He scrolled down the paper and located the Davenport’s Police point of contact.

  Sgt. Scott Milburn

  Davenport Police

  319-999-0001

  Patrick dialed the number. A few rings later, a young woman answered. “Davenport Police, Jessica speaking.”

  “Hello, this is New Haven Police Detective Patrick Morgan. I’m looking for Sergeant Milburn.”

  “Hold, please.”

  The woman’s voice was replaced with the sound of holiday music. Just a little early. Patrick was waiting several minutes, humming along with the melody, when he heard a strong male voice answer.

  “Good afternoon, Detective Morgan. What can I help you with?”

  “Sergeant, I was going over the file you sent, and some of the paperwork seems to be missing.”

  “What’s missing?”

  “The call log from the dispatch center.”

  “Hmm, I thought it was in the packet…you sure?”

  “Yes, I went through everything. It’s not here.”

  “Shit, did you get the officer’s narrative?”

  Patrick pulled out the report. “Yeah, right here in my hand, dated for 11-09-09, at 2300.”

  “Good, Patrick. Been trying to find anyone who happened to be in the area during the murders.”

  “Find anything so far?” Patrick asked.

  “Nothing other than what I sent up to you guys. Hold on…I was gone the last couple of days. Looks like someone put a few files in my inbox.”

  Could be something. “Sure, I’ll hold on.” Patrick could hear the sound of papers being shuffled.

  “Patrick, you’re not gonna fucking believe this.”