Dangerous & Deadly- The Nick Myers Series

by Tanya R. Taylor

  During the drive, he began to wonder if he was really doing the right thing - the sane thing.

  Approximately two hours later, he arrived at Sutton Creek. It was a desolate area lined with dozens of empty, rusty oil bins, and an old, dysfunctional lighthouse behind which stood miles of shallow stream water. The sign at the entrance was flaky and almost illegible, but Victor was able to decipher that it did, in fact, read Sutton Creek. He drove slowly toward the lighthouse and parked next to the blue bin as specifically instructed. With engine running, he stepped out of the car and walked toward the bin. After ensuring that the coast was clear, he tilted the container slightly and peered underneath. There, he found another sealed envelope which he immediately ripped open. The note inside read:

  ‘Continue driving ahead toward the edge of the barge. You will see a boulder with a wide, square board on top of it. Another envelope is taped beneath the board.’

  Victor returned to his car and drove toward the edge of the barge. He again left the engine running and this time hurried over to the rock. As promised, another sealed envelope was taped beneath the board, and he wasted no time opening that one either. This letter frankly stated:

  ‘Turn off the engine, take the keys from the ignition and open your trunk.’

  Now with an uneasy, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Victor headed out back to the trunk of his car. Before pressing the rear indicator on the remote device, he stared at the trunk with uncertainty and fear. The moment for him was immeasurably unnerving, for he could not conceive what the long drive out of town could possibly have to do with him ultimately opening the trunk of his own car. Nevertheless, he finally persuaded himself to release the trunk and it popped open.

  Uncertain as to what caught his eye, he stepped cautiously forward, then suddenly feeling gravely ill, he could not control the bile that gushed up his throat. He turned away just in time as the vomit spewed out and he curled over in agony.

  “Oh, God, what am I going to do?!” He muttered repeatedly as soon as the words would come. Fear had blanketed him so heavily that he felt like he was literally dying inside. Then reaching inside his shirt pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. With heart thumping rapidly and legs that felt heavy by the second, he finally returned to the trunk of his car.

  Looking closely, he spotted another envelope taped to the edge of the small blue tarp where the gruesome sight lay. He carefully reached inside and retrieved it, hesitant, though curious to read the anticipated message it contained. Again, he managed. The note was handwritten in red ink:

  ‘If I were you, I'd toss it into the creek, unless for some odd reason you’d prefer to make Clare Moore whole again instead of protecting your own skin. Sorry I couldn't be of any further assistance, but it was fun. Wasn't it?’

  A happy face was sketched at the bottom.

  Victor became bitterly enraged by the stranger’s revolting sense of humor. Feeling like a complete idiot and desperately wanting the culprit to show his face so he could get his hands on him, he carefully scanned the area to see if anyone was watching, but saw no one.

  Securing the letters in the glove compartment of the car, he knew he had a pressing decision to make – one that would inevitably change his life forever.

  * * * *

  Victor was consumed by the thought of how many more problems would arise if the police ever found out what had been in his possession. He felt that trusting them to believe in his innocence would be like turning himself over to the garroter.

  Later that afternoon, he returned to work, knowing that he had to create an alibi for the hours he was alone even though it would clearly not be a tight one. As he proceeded nervously toward Harold's office, he hadn't the slightest clue what to say to him when he got there.

  The door was widely ajar, as if inviting the guilty to enter. Victor walked in and immediately shut the door behind him. Harold glanced forward in the middle of viewing a large chart that had been sprawled across his desk.

  “Hey Victor, have a seat,” he said, eyes pinned to his work.

  “Harold, I want to apologize...”

  “Have a seat,” Harold reiterated.

  Victor sat down and listened quietly as Harold spoke indistinctly while studying the chart. About a minute later, Harold looked up.

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting, Son. This darn chart’s no easier to understand than legal rhetoric,” he grinned. “I’ll get back to that later on. Right now I want to know what's going on with you? Did everything work out all right this morning? You seemed pretty worried.”

  Victor shifted in his seat. “The letter Sally gave me this morning while at the meeting was from a friend that urgently needed my help in a personal matter.”

  “Did everything turn out okay?” Harold asked.

  “Yes. Everything’s okay now,” Victor answered.

  Harold looked at him for a few moments. Victor could not tell whether the old man had fallen for it or not. Then Harold dropped the pencil he was holding on the desk.

  “Victor, you know I’m here for you no matter what. You don’t have to take on the whole world by yourself as long as I’m around.”

  Victor held his head down for a moment. “I've just been under a lot of pressure lately, you know, with all that’s been going on.”

  “But I thought that was all settled, Son. We discussed it, remember?”

  “Yeah, we did, but when everything’s quiet and I’m all alone, my mind just keeps going. On top of that, Lisa's been having nightmares about her grand-aunt's murder, and really, both of us haven’t been getting much sleep as of late. Thankfully, Tim doesn’t seem to be affected one way or the other. He’s busy with sports and all the other extracurricular activities he’s into.”

  Suddenly, Harold had an idea. “Hey, why don’t you all come over for dinner tonight, huh? Mary will be delighted to see the whole crew again.”

  “I would love to, Harold, but I’ll have to take a rain-check on that,” Victor replied. “I plan to put in a few hours here, then turn in early tonight to get some much needed rest. But some other time, okay?”

  “Sure, but under one condition,” Harold said.

  “What’s that?” Victor asked.

  “That you leave whatever you have to get done in this office until Monday. I'm sure it can wait until then.”

  Victor agreed, and a little more than an hour later, he was heading home.

  His mind still reeling over the day’s events with absolutely no resolution in sight, Victor made an impromptu U-turn and headed for Benedict Canyon.

  Twenty minutes later, he entered the secret, four-digit identification code at the gate. The thick iron frame rolled back and he drove all the way up the long, narrow driveway. Betty’s Jaguar was parked in the unlocked garage, but Joe’s pick-up was nowhere to be seen. Victor was relieved - even glad. It meant that he and his sister could speak privately. He was so eager to talk to her that after he arrived at the front door and rang the doorbell, he could not even remember getting out of the car.

  “I need to talk to you, Sis,” he said the moment the door cracked open. Betty was wearing a yellow bathrobe and a thick, white towel was wrapped around her head. Victor immediately started pacing the floor as he often did when something troubled him.

  “Victor, what's wrong?” Betty asked.

  He paused and looked at her. “Someone's trying to frame me. I don't know who or why, but they're trying to set me up!”

  “What are you talking about?” Betty asked. “Does this have anything to do with Freda’s photo being found?”

  “Not just that.” Victor resumed his pacing. “Since then, another woman was killed - an old lady. At first, I didn't know that the person who killed Freda and the kid had also killed that old lady. But now I know for sure. All those murders are connected.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I assume the last victim’s leg had been severed - the killer planted it in the trunk of my car.”<
br />
  Betty's jaw went slack. She was momentarily speechless.

  “This mysterious someone lured me to a place called Sutton Creek with these,” he showed her the letters. “All the while, I had no idea that he'd planted an actual body part in my trunk.”

  Betty started reading the letters, dumbstruck by what she had just heard. “He wanted you to dispose of it,” she noted on reading the last page. “Either that or set yourself up. It's apparent that he's meddling with your mind.”

  Victor finally stopped pacing and looked into his sister's eyes. “I feel like I'm losing it, Bee. I haven’t the slightest clue who would want to do something like this to me. I can't go to the cops; I doubt they'd let me walk away after hearing my story. They'd be convinced that I committed all those murders. I know it!”

  “You're right,” she agreed. “And they'd do just about anything right now to make an arrest. By the way, what did you do with the limb?”

  “I buried it in the sand.”

  “Instead of tossing it overboard?” She asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “So that if I change my mind about going to the cops, they'll be able to find it,” he reasoned.

  “And then what?”

  “I don't know. I was so confused,” he shook his head. “I still am. At the time, I know I wasn't thinking straight.”

  Betty squeezed his hand gently. “Have you told anyone else about this, Victor?”

  “Of course not. I couldn't risk telling anyone else,” he replied.

  “Good. Keep it that way.” She approached the window and stared outside at the beautifully manicured lawn, though temporarily uninspired by it. “For now, you should keep things the way they are - that is until this guy contacts you again, and I have a strong feeling that he will. I don't know who he is or what he has against you, but we have to find out.” She turned around and faced him. “You must let me know when he contacts you again, Victor. No one's so smart that they're perfect, right?”

  He knew exactly what she meant. He felt better.

  * * * *

  Frank turned in for an early night. He had been feeling lethargic for most of the evening. Annie wished him a good night and eased shut the door of his bedroom. She returned to her room and sat in front of the mirror, staring straight ahead for several moments. Sometimes when she looked at herself long enough, in her mind’s eye, she could see her deceased husband, Tom, smiling back at her. She was grateful for the life they had shared together. He was everything she had ever wanted in a man – everything her father wasn’t to her mother. Annie took comfort in knowing that for fifteen years of her husband’s life, she had managed to make him happy. That is what pleased her. Now, she had the responsibility of caring for her brother who no longer was able to care for himself. She was honored to be his rock. He had been hers for most of her life.

  She slid out the curler drawer and began setting her long salt and pepper tresses that hung all the way down to her waistline. Annie was tall and slender, and at forty-four, boasted a youthful appearance. Her tan complexion and light green eyes made the most hardened man’s heart skip a beat at the very sight of her.

  In the other room, Frank had already drifted off to sleep. He had managed to keep his past alive by means of recurring nightmares; often awaking drenched in sweat by morning.

  SIX

  Three days after her initial meeting with detectives, the mist had barely dried from the air that morning before Edith Larson returned to police headquarters.

  “It’s good to see you again, Miss Larson,” Nick stood, offering her a seat.

  “I decided to come here instead of calling because Joe-Boy, the kid I told you about, was afraid that speaking to you over the telephone wasn't a good idea,” she said.

  “He’s agreed to meet with us?” Nick was hopeful.

  “He's agreed to meet with you,” she clarified. “He doesn't want too many ears around because news have a way of traveling. Word gets around in our neighborhood. You just can't trust nobody, hardly.”

  “Where does he want to meet?”

  “Through an alley on South Street next to the old Commons Bakery at eleven tonight,” Edith replied. “He’s tall, slim, about seventeen years old or so. Says you'll know him by the green jacket he'll be wearing with the big white spider on it.

  “Great. Did you describe me to him?” Nick asked.

  “He says he knows you from around, but wasn't sure about your partner. That's why I specifically asked for you when I came here today.” She reached for the strap of her bag and stood up again. “Anyway, I have to go now. I really hope you find Clare’s killer, detective. Ever since she died, I've been praying for justice and that no one else's loved one’s life is cut short by that monster of a man.”

  Nick stood up as well. “I don’t usually make any promises, Miss Larson, but I will make one to you today. We will catch this guy... whoever he is. You have my word.”

  That night, Nick parked a quarter of a block down from Commons Bakery near a dimly lit street lamp, then walked smoothly up the sidewalk toward the alleyway. Four young men were sitting on a wall a few yards from where he had parked, but Nick depended on the car alarm to summon him if anyone attempted to break in.

  At 10:58, he arrived at the designated area. Slowly walking through the alley and acutely aware of his surroundings, he soon noticed a frame facing the fence ahead that bore the picture of a white spider on the back of its jacket. One dull spotlight struggled to beam halfway through, which made it possible for him to see that the jacket was also green.

  A couple more yards in, then he stopped. The kid turned around and appeared to be extremely nervous.

  “You Nick Myers, right?” He asked, yanking out a cigarette.

  “Yeah. Joe-Boy?”

  “Uh, huh. Let's make this quick, all right? It won't be long before someone drifts through here and sees us - maybe even the killer; never know. Then he'll be after the both of us.” He paused for a moment. “Well, maybe not you, 'cause you're a cop, but he'll definitely be after me.”

  “You said you could describe the guy you saw with Clare Moore?” Nick made ready his tiny notepad and a pen.

  “Yeah. But the only thing is I couldn't see his face too good. It was vague; you know? I remember everything else I saw, though.”

  Nick’s heart slumped. He mostly needed a good facial description. “Wait. You're telling me you didn't see the suspect’s face?” He asked.

  “Yeah, that's what I'm saying. It was late that night when I saw him leading Miss Clare away. As you can see,” he waved toward the street, “we don't have much sunlight out here at night. Look, I'm risking my black behind just being out here talking to a pig cop. One of the brothers could get the wrong impression if he pops up on us like this. He might think I'm rapping on one of them. I don't know 'bout you, detective, but I value my life a whole lot."

  Joe-Boy was young, but obviously no fool. Nick knew firsthand that the streets had ears and eyes that were often unseen, and vengeful attacks on suspected snitches were insanely merciless.

  “All right, I guess I can't ask for more than you can deliver, can I?” Nick responded, trying to hide his disappointment.

  “No, you can't,” answered Joe-boy, slightly miffed at the cop's apparent ingratitude.

  “Go ahead. Describe the man you saw to me,” Nick said calmly.

  “He was about six feet tall, had dark brown or black hair, and he was wearing a blue jeans and black jacket with a hood. He wasn’t wearing the hood on his head, though.”

  “Was he… Caucasian, Black, Hispanic...”

  “He was a white man. No doubt about it.”

  “Did it seem like he was forcing Clare Moore to go with him?” Nick probed.

  “I really couldn't tell. But I knew it was strange for Miss Clare to be walking off with a man like that. Her head wasn't always straight, but she knew a stranger when she saw one, and there was no way she was going with that guy just like that.�
��

  “So, let me ask you a question,” Nick returned. “If you thought Clare was in danger, why didn't you try to stop her by calling out to her or something, and asking if she was okay?”

  “Any white guy in this neighborhood late at night got no good intentions in for nobody,” Joe-Boy said blatantly. “If that guy wasn't traveling with a piece or something, my name ain't Joe-Boy. I was gonna follow them, but I don't know, my mind told me this guy was dangerous and Joe-Boy avoids danger at all costs.”

  “Do you think anyone else might have seen them?” Nick asked.

  “Don't know. I saw them walking a couple of blocks down from where Miss Clare was found dead. No one hardly was hanging around that time of night. I spotted them from my window and I could’ve sworn for a minute that the guy looked straight at me while they were passing. But I still couldn’t see his face good. That's why I didn't wanna get involved in this mess in the first place.”

  “Is that all you can remember, kid? Even the slightest bit of information I want to know about.”

  “That's all I know. I'm sorry I can’t help with the main part, you know, but there must be somewhere you can go with this; ain't there?” Joe-Boy asked.

  “Sure,” Nick replied, unconvinced.

  The youngster threw what was left of the cigarette he had been smoking to the ground and stumped it out with his tennis shoe. “Anyway, man, I gotta go. Must be a jack fool for hanging around here this long in the first place.”

  “Hey, where can I find you if I need you again?” Nick asked as Joe-Boy gripped the fence.

  “Nowhere, 'cause I ain’t talking to you no more, cop.” He leaped over the fence and disappeared into the night.

  Before heading out of the alleyway, Nick stashed away his notepad and pen. He felt that he still had close to diddly-squat even after the arranged rendezvous. As he made a left onto the sidewalk, he inadvertently bumped into two black guys, realizing that he and Joe-Boy had missed them by mere seconds. The men slowed, looked at him suspiciously, then walked on.