The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Alex Troutt Thrillers Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  “Sorry. Come on in, and let’s sit down and discuss this.”

  I left him at the kitchen table and stuck a bowl of fruit in front of him while I ran upstairs to throw on some clothes. I walked into the kitchen while still buttoning the sleeves on my blue-and-white-striped blouse.

  With her legs crossed and one arm draped over the wooden chair, Ezzy sat across from Nick, who was laughing so hard the sound had morphed into a machine-gun cackle.

  “And that’s the real story about the chicken getting its head cut off,” she said while winking at me.

  Nick belted out another ten-second cackle, then he noticed me as I fiddled with tying my hair back.

  “Hey, Alex. Ezzy’s cracking me up here.” He wiped tears from his eyes, which had enormous bags under them.

  “Glad you’re chilling out.” I fixed my second cup of coffee as Nick and Ezzy continued small talk, and then I joined them at the table.

  Nick took the final bite of a pear. “Damn, that’s good.”

  Ezzy spoke up, turning her playful gaze to me. “Glad to see someone enjoys the organic fruit I bought. Don’t want to see good money go to waste.”

  I ignored the friendly dig, then touched Nick’s arm. “Ten minutes ago, you were a live wire. Did Ezzy lace the pear with something I’m not aware of?”

  “It’s all about perspective, Alex. That’s all she gave me, a better perspective.”

  “On our investigation?”

  “Eh.” He clammed up, and I looked at Ezzy.

  “Nick had some negative thoughts in his head. Disturbing images from the gentleman who was killed in Brighton Beach.”

  I brought a hand to my mouth, covering my snicker. “All of this is because you saw a guy who had his wanker cut off and stuffed down his throat?”

  Nick’s face went blank. “That was the craziest shit I’d ever seen. It hurt me and I’d never met the guy before.”

  “But still, it wasn’t you or anyone you knew.”

  He rested his hand on my arm. “Trust me. Ask any guy.” His eyes looked to the corner, and I could see that his bulging blue vein on his forehead was less prominent. “Maybe that contributed to the cluster that started overnight.”

  He slid his phone around, and all I could see were dozens of text messages with lots of punctuation.

  “Now that you’re back in a rational state of mind, can you fill me in on what I missed?”

  “Started with a quick group text from Tanner, Carella’s guy.”

  “The baby-faced kid?”

  “Right. Anyway, he just sends out a one-line text saying Bruno was verified to be the killer of both Karina and Mike Pavlovich. Then Carella replied with some pointed questions, and it just got out of control.”

  I’d already picked up Nick’s phone and was trying to decipher the litany of paraphrased words and acronyms. “What does NWIFH mean?”

  “Beats the crap out of me.” He let out an exhausted breath, then wiped his face, the loose skin under his eyes drooping like old-man breasts.

  “No way in fucking hell.”

  Nick and I swiveled our heads over to Ezzy, who was strumming her fingers on the table.

  “I’m not one to curse, at least not out loud. But that’s what the kids say these days. Everything is a damn acronym.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Erin asked me to read through a series of text messages. She wanted my opinion on whether a guy was flirting with her or not.”

  “Uh-huh. And who said NWIFH?”

  She swatted her hand. “Oh, one of her girlfriends. She didn’t know what she was talking about.”

  “So Erin has a boy interested in her?” I asked, learning forward with both of my palms on the table.

  “I think so. But things change day to day in high school.”

  I made a mental note to quiz Erin later in a way that wouldn’t let her think I was actually quizzing her.

  “You want to head into the office, see what Brad and Gretchen came up with, and find out if there’s even a case to still be investigating?” Nick leaned back and stretched his legs out under the table.

  Pinching the corners of my eyes, I could feel the internal ping-pong battle resurface. I’d been trying to convince myself all night that Bruno was indeed the killer we were looking for, the sole perpetrator in the homicides against the sweet bar owner, Monty; the state police lieutenant, Ben Murphy; and now the pair in Brighton Beach. The cuts and bruises on my body were all the reminders I needed to know just how violent and brutal Bruno was. But just as quickly, I found myself arguing the other side—again—because of the cuts and bruises. The four murders were certainly violent, but they also appeared to have a purpose, and a pattern.

  That couldn’t be said about Bruno’s attack on me.

  Why even go after me? He ambushed me a hundred yards from a slew of law enforcement officials. Was he so out of control that he didn’t think about the possible risk? What else could be gained, other than trying to distract the investigation, or at least alter the focus to someone else?

  Nick lifted from the table. “Traffic will suck, but let’s get the party started.”

  Pushing the chair out, I paused, my mind volleying both sides of the argument until one data point lodged itself in the net. I thought about the hours that might be wasted, wondering if someone else might die during that time.

  “All the noise, the disturbing images, Bruno’s attack on me, everything... We have to ask ourselves: what if Bruno isn’t the killer?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out, isn’t it?”

  “But he’s in custody. We’re tired as hell, everyone is overworked, freaked out by the sickening murders. We want him to be the killer.”

  Nick rubbed his tired eyes. “You’re probably right.”

  I tapped the table. “Have a seat, and let’s pull together a quick conference call. Ezzy, we’ll need more fruit.”

  “Coming right up, Dr. Alex.”

  Nick sent out a quick meeting invite, and we joined the bridge.

  I took the lead, which shouldn’t have been surprising to anyone who knew me. Even Carella, who hadn’t known me long.

  “Gentlemen, I hope everyone got at least a few good hours of sleep.”

  Moans and groans of various octave levels and energy came from the speaker of Nick’s cell phone, which he’d set between us on the table.

  “You’ve got at least one lady on the call too.”

  I sat up. “Gretchen?”

  “Here and accounted for.”

  “Alex, this is Brad. I asked her to join us. She’s already done a good amount of digging. She needs to be kept in the loop firsthand.”

  “That works for me.”

  I paused for a brief second to clear my throat, but it wasn’t quick enough.

  “Didn’t I tell you guys that Bruno is our guy? We know he killed Karina and Mike Pavlovich in Brighton Beach, which probably means he’s your perp in the Boston-area murders.”

  “Tanner,” Carella said.

  “What?”

  “Shut the fuck up, will you?”

  I winced a bit, knowing we’d be our worst enemy if we continued fighting like siblings, regardless of rank and role. Without knowing who was right or wrong, we had to share the facts.

  “Guys, I didn’t follow the text trail. So I need Tanner to clearly state, without interruption, why he thinks Bruno is the killer. You’ve got thirty seconds. Go.”

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  Despite his innocent look, Tanner had a thread of cockiness. Did it go hand in hand with his age?

  “Not obvious to this agent. We just need the facts, and I’m certain we’ll see the same perspective,” I said.

  I had my doubts, given the personalities of the group, but I had to end this counterproductive infighting so I could figure out what the hell was going on. Only then could I rally the troops, or mules in a few cases, to aggressively pursue the next step of our investigation.

 
; “Okay, for starters, we have confirmation that Bruno was at Tatiana.”

  Nick smacked the table. “Crap, son. That should have been the lead.”

  “Hold on,” Carella chimed in.

  I wanted to hear Tanner out, but Carella’s tone altered my approach. “Go ahead, Carella.”

  “Agent Munson was in charge of the interviews at Tatiana. After Alex was attacked, I asked him to have his team go back to the restaurant and show every person in there the picture of Bruno.”

  “And they recognized him, right?” Tanner said with a hint of attitude.

  “Yes, but—”

  “So what’s all the push-back for?”

  “Hold your breath, junior, for about twenty seconds.” Carella mumbled something I couldn’t understand. I glanced at Nick, who punched the mute button.

  “I think he’s pissed.”

  A quick head nod and I unmuted our line as Carella continued his thought.

  “If you read all of Munson’s report, he said four different people recognized Bruno. But his most recent sighting at Tatiana had been at least three months prior.”

  “Oh. Missed that part,” Tanner said with defeat in his voice.

  I heard a few exasperated breaths.

  I tried to keep us all on the same page. “So we’ve got some information clarified. Bruno might have known Karina, but it doesn’t appear that he was in the restaurant that night.”

  “Doesn’t mean he wasn’t waiting for her after work,” Tanner added.

  “True,” I said. “Right now, the only likely connection is between Karina and Mike. They went to the same high school. They’re only two years apart in age, so it’s very possible they could have run in the same circles.”

  “Alex, I think the killer is sending a rather direct message. Stuffing body parts down Mike’s throat, including Karina’s tongue? It doesn’t take a nuclear physicist to figure it out,” Carella said.

  Looking at Nick, I said, “A lovers’ triangle.”

  “Did you get your MD in geometry?” Nick deadpanned.

  My lips turned upward at the corners in response to Nick’s stupid joke, but I wasn’t really in a laughing mood. We weren’t making much progress with our conference call, and I was getting antsy.

  I tried to rally the troops. “So, we need to find a connection between Bruno and the two Brighton Beach vics.”

  Carella spoke up. “Munson said that Karina had a drug problem. That was verified by a number of her coworkers. It had gone on for a while, and they seemed tired of it. She’d lost custody of her three kids and was constantly borrowing money and giving excuses for being late to work.”

  I quietly rapped my fingers on the table. “Priors?”

  “A string of possession charges and one charge for prostitution.”

  “One more thing,” he said. “The night she was killed, she left work early, rushing out of the restaurant. They’d seen her do that before, and it usually meant she either had a date with someone she thought could be her sugar daddy or she was meeting a dealer.”

  A thought had just entered my frontal lobe.

  “Is there a possibility that Mike Pavlovich could have been her drug connection?”

  I heard paper flapping over the speaker, maybe Carella thumbing through his tiny notepad. “No arrests for him, not even a traffic citation.”

  I nodded and let the information resonate.

  “I think we need to wait until we can verify Bruno’s whereabouts during the time Karina and Mike were killed,” I said.

  “Munson is on his way to the warehouse where Bruno worked on the north end of Brooklyn. We’re hoping someone can give us a hint as to where he might have been between the hours that Karina and Mike were killed.”

  “And that was between nine p.m. and three a.m.?”

  Brad spoke up. “That’s what the ME report says.”

  “Hold on, we might have something here to help us,” Gretchen said.

  I could hear her and Brad conversing, but not arguing. In fact, I knew arguing was the last thing she wanted to do with Brad.

  “You have an attentive audience, Gretchen. Fire away,” I said.

  “I’ve been working with the New York Transit Authority for the last four hours, and they’ve been nice enough to provide me video footage of the area near Tatiana on the night Karina was killed and then again last night.”

  My mouth became dry, and I licked my lips. “And?”

  “I’m almost certain that I’ve got footage of Bruno getting out of a cab at the corner of Bridgewater and Brighton 3rd Street. He walked behind a light pole, but you can just make him out. He has his hoodie down, and I see his dog tags glaring from the light just above for a split second.”

  “Brad, what do you think?” Nick asked.

  “I’m with Gretchen. Appears to be him, or someone who’s trying to look like him. We already have a call into the cab company to talk to the driver.”

  “What time?” My mouth was now a foot above the phone.

  “The footage shows ten fifty-two p.m.”

  “Ten fifty-two,” I repeated, closing my eyes. “Wait a second...which night?”

  “Sorry, last night. Not even twelve hours ago.”

  Nick and I locked eyes, and I could feel my heart tick a bit faster. “So he takes a cab with the purpose of attacking me.” I blew out a breath. “Wish we had—”

  “I think we might, but in a different way,” Gretchen said. “Based upon my review of the video footage from the previous night, on the same corner, and from five other camera positions east and west of that location, I didn’t see anyone matching Bruno’s appearance. Not even close.”

  “Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have slipped through. Hell, he could have walked up the Boardwalk from half a mile away,” Tanner said.

  “You’re right, Tanner. But it’s still nice work, Gretchen,” I said. “Now we need the records from all the cab companies that drive through Brighton Beach.”

  “Already made the request,” Brad said.

  I didn’t want to pick teams, but I was awfully proud of the commitment from my Boston colleagues.

  “Cool.”

  “Holy shit. Alex, just got a text from Munson,” Carella said, his voice pitching a shade higher.

  “Bruno’s boss and one other guy confirmed that they were shooting pool with him the night of the murders, well past midnight, from what he says. He’ll get verification from those at the pub, but this is big. Bruno might be innocent of the Brighton Beach murders after all.”

  My pulse was chugging even faster now. “If he didn’t kill the two in Brooklyn—hell, he was playing pool with his buddies the night before last—I’d be hard-pressed to imagine him killing the pair up in Boston.”

  “Our job just got harder,” Nick declared, pushing his sleeves up his arm.

  Staring at Nick, I forgot about the others on the phone for a second. “So, again, I’m wondering what his motivation was for trying to whack me?”

  “He must know the killer,” Carella said.

  Nick held up a finger. “Semper Fi. Those were his last words during the on-site interview.”

  “Always faithful. He must be covering for someone.” I paused, my eyes shifting to our backyard. “I think I know our next move,” I said to Nick. “Everyone else, please follow up on your leads, the cab companies, the weapon used in each crime, and anything else that will put things in the black or white categories. By the way, thank you for working your asses off while the rest of America was sleeping. Much appreciated. I think it will pay off.”

  Nick punched the line dead, then leaned over and patted me on the back. “Nice work, Dr. Alex.”

  I smacked my hands together. “All it took was some old-fashioned communication. TIAWIFH.”

  “And that means?”

  “There is a way in fucking hell.”

  12

  Nick slipped into the front seat and slammed the door, rubbing his hands together and then holding them in front of the rented
car’s heating vents.

  “Damn, it’s cold out there.”

  Nick’s cherry red nose and cheeks were ample evidence that the temperatures had dropped since we landed at Williamsport Airport—our second visit to northeastern Pennsylvania in the last three days.

  “That’s what happens when you stand outside for fifteen minutes.”

  “I tried to be professional, but you woulda thought I was a street crossing guard when I flashed my FBI creds. Needless to say, around these parts, they don’t carry much weight.”

  “I think the highway patrol officer is acting like a street crossing guard, given the road is blocked in the middle of Pennsylvania BFE. He’s not letting us through,” I said, my eyes glued to my phone trying to decipher a new email from Brad.

  Lifting my head for a moment, I gave Nick a wry smile.

  “Little shit. About froze my ass off out there.”

  “So what’s the big holdup, besides the obvious?” Peering past five cars lined up in front of our four-door tin can, I saw the hind legs of a deer sprawled across the pavement.

  “First I had to wait until he finally stopped chatting with the animal control guy. Apparently, they’re big hunting buddies, and they were planning their next trip.”

  A car horn blared from behind us. Nick checked the rearview, and I glanced over my shoulder to make sure a frustrated driver wasn’t going to exit the car and execute a new, more personal form of road rage.

  I blew out a frustrated breath. We were only ten minutes away from the US Penitentiary, and up to now, I’d been able to keep my emotions in check. I’d come to the conclusion that we needed to have a second and, hopefully, final interview with J. L. Cobb. During our last visit, he’d hinted of another person being involved in the ring killings—a woman. But he still hadn’t gone to trial, so it was entirely possible—bordering on likely—that Cobb, or even his attorney, were setting up several other plausible theories to shift a potential jury away from “beyond reasonable doubt.”

  But what if there was another person involved? The possibility kept rolling through my mind. Frankly, I didn’t want to think about the chance that someone else connected to Mark’s murder might be walking the streets killing more people.