Kill Crime: A Jeff Case Novel-Stunning crime thriller full of twists with an unpredictable ending. Book 1

by Mike Slavin

  They leaned over and Case read the note aloud.

  IF YOU DON’T STOP MESSING WITH PEOPLE YOU AND YOUR FAMILY WILL DIE.

  “This guy obviously doesn’t follow the news. You know who this is from, don’t you?” Case asked.

  “Who?”

  “The geologist I fired about a month ago. The guy who thinks he’s part Cheyenne?"

  “You mean ‘Dumb Ass Thinking Slowly’?” Sam asked.

  “That’s him—Tommy Crow,” Case said. “Call the police and report this, but pick it up with tweezers first and put it in a plastic bag.”

  “Aren’t you concerned?”

  “The man’s a coward,” Case said. “He’s just pissed over losing his job. He won’t blame himself, so he blames me. Check the camera in the hall.”

  It took only a few minutes. Case waited. “It’s him. See,” Sam said as he pointed at the monitor.

  “Yep, that’s him.”

  Case went into his office. He looked up Tommy Crow’s number and called him.

  “Tommy, this is Jeff Case. Let me get right to the point. I know you’re pissed that you got fired, but a death threat isn’t how to handle it.”

  “Death threat? What’re you talking about?” Tommy asked.

  “You’re on camera. Don’t bother denying it. You threatened to kill my family and me. You know they were murdered recently?”

  “Oh shit, really? I didn’t do it.”

  “Look, you got a generous severance package and a letter of recommendation. Are we done with your threats?”

  “Yes sir, I was just angry. I won’t hurt anyone.”

  “Good. I hear from you again, I’ll turn the recording over to the cops. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Case hung up.

  That is a weird duck.

  Case stood looking out the window. People astounded him sometimes. They really did some dumb things.

  He sat at his desk as his intercom went off. “Sir, Lieutenant Marsh is on line one,” Sam said. “And I have that meeting set up with Mr. Guess at four this afternoon if that’s still good for you?”

  “That’s fine. Put the call through. I’ve got a nine o’clock with Trish Teal.”

  Case punched the flashing light on his phone. Larry and Sandy had gotten Case through an extremely hard time and continued checking on him. Case was ready for a friendly voice and he hoped Larry, being a police lieutenant detective in the homicide division, would have some news on the robbery.

  “You doing okay today?” Larry asked.

  “I’m all right, but if I let myself, I could fall apart right now,” Case said. “I was hoping you were calling with some news. Your police friends still haven’t got shit so far.”

  “You know if I could do more, I would.”

  “I know.”

  “Something like this, there’s a real good chance someone will talk or brag about it,” Larry said. “We’ll hear something. Time is our friend on a case like this.”

  “I’m getting tired of waiting.” Case hadn’t told Larry that a PI was investigating for him. He was afraid if he gave Larry any information the police didn’t already have, it could put him in a precarious position.

  “You free for lunch?” Larry asked. “Might make you feel better.”

  “Thanks, but I’m too busy,” Case said. “Oh, I got a death threat in writing today.”

  “What? You’ve got to be kidding,” he said. “Who’d you piss off this time?”

  “It was an exhilarating way to start the day. I’ve also got an email waiting for me to be read. More info on Robert Guess, the Kill Crime author, from a PI I put on it,” Case said. Case didn’t mind telling Larry about that. He had put the PI on it before his family was killed.

  “His book is about ‘kill a crook,’ right? Vigilantism?” Larry asked.

  “Yeah, sort of.”

  “Did you say you’re going to go see the guy?”

  “I’m planning to.”

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing what you got on him, if you don’t mind sharing.”

  Case clicked a few buttons with his mouse and put Larry’s email address into the forward line. Then he clicked send. “There you go. It’s on the way,” Case said. “Let me call you later. I’m swamped now. Oh, tell Sandy hi.”

  There was a light double tap on the open office door. Case looked up to see Buster Moore standing in the doorway.

  “What can I do for you?” Case asked.

  “I just got our daily drilling report. We’re at four thousand feet and drilling ahead with no problems,” Buster said. “We’re still projected to TD in about two weeks.”

  “Good. Total depth?” Case asked.

  “We should hit money at 12,500 feet,” he said.

  That well was important. If it was good, it could provide a significant oil and gas reserve that would keep the company drilling for years and make a ton of money. It could easily double their value, or more. Case knew that Buster was aware of how important the well was. The company was pretty extended and cash poor, but had lots of leases. This was an expensive lease, and the three-dimensional seismic shoot had cost a bundle. It was time to turn those leases into cash flow. A dry hole would send all the money on the leases, the 3D seismic and the drilling expenses on that project down the drain. Dry holes cost money. Hopefully, this well would hit and prove to be a large field.

  Buster was hired as Case’s chief of staff, more or less. All six geologists and both petroleum engineers reported to him. Only Buster and Sam reported directly to Case.

  Case clearly remembered the day he’d hired Buster Moore and his first week four years ago. The day he’d been convinced the man was a superhero.

  Four Years Ago

  One Hundred Miles Southwest of Houston

  “Buster, let’s go home,” said Case, the CEO of Greenleaf Exploration. “Schlumberger will let us know when they get unstuck. They’ll probably have to condition the hole again. It could be a day or two before they’re ready to try logging the well.”

  Once a well was drilled, it had to be logged, a procedure in which a line was dropped down the wellbore and a detailed record was made of the geological formations. This was the first step in knowing if a well might be good. Schlumberger was the best at it.

  Schlumberger Limited, the world’s largest oilfield services company, had gotten its logging tool stuck at 4,350 feet into the wellbore. There was no financial consequence for Case’s company because it always contracted for a turnkey to deliver a log on the well. The driller was responsible for paying to get the tool unstuck and, if necessary, to re-drill the well.

  “I expect Schlumberger will be able to get the tool free,” Case said.

  “They probably will, boss. I’m ready to go,” replied Buster, Case’s new VP and Chief Geologist. It had been a long day. Buster was a big black man with weightlifter’s arms who rarely looked tired but must have been exhausted.

  Case glanced at his watch. It was 3:00 a.m.—long past time to drive back home to Houston.

  Case and Buster had been traveling for fifteen minutes when a huge red ball of fire erupted just off the highway to their right.

  He pulled off the road. They saw the outline of a lit rig engulfed in flames. The rig was right at the three-hundred-feet-minimum from the road. Spraying oil pelted them as they ran toward it. Both kept falling on the slippery ground.

  This was a perilous situation. The well must have had a gas kick along with the oil, which ignited a spark. If the rig was drilling, a crew had to be nearby.

  Blinded by the orange glow from the fire, Case tripped over something as he hurried forward.

  It was a body.

  He rolled the man over to see his face. It was badly burned. Case had seen enough of death in the war to know what a dead man looked like.

  Buster also found a body and yelled to Case, “Boss, this guy's dead!”

  The noise of the pressurized oil and gas being shot out of an eight-inch wellbore was deafening. The heat w
as intense.

  “Get them away from the fire! I’m going to keep looking!” Case yelled.

  “Help, I’m stuck!” Case heard someone yell closer to the fire. It came from an area where equipment was piled up, probably blown off the rig when the blowout occurred.

  “Keep talking!” Case yelled as he took off at a cautious run, losing one step for every two he took in the slippery mix of oil and mud around the rig. “I can’t see you!”

  “Over here,” came the voice. “I can't move.” The voice was growing fainter.

  Case saw a gloved hand waving weakly. “I see you!” he yelled. As he drew near, he saw that the man’s glove was drenched with blood. He grabbed the man’s hand. “Can you hear me?”

  He was pinned under some metal, which Case couldn’t move. The man weakly squeezed Case’s hand. His arm had been ripped open to the bone. Based on the amount of blood, his artery must have been sliced open. Moving the guy could kill him. With his oily hand, Case applied pressure to stop the blood flowing out as best he could.

  “Buster!” Case screamed. “There’re towels in the car. Grab them! Hurry, he’s bleeding out!”

  As he ran to the truck, Buster whipped off his shirt and threw it to Case. “Hang in there, buddy!”

  Case wrapped the oil-soaked shirt as tightly as he could around the man’s arm. The man wasn’t responding. Case pulled off his own shirt and made a tourniquet above the wound.

  Buster ran over, slipping all the way. He dropped the towels by the pinned man.

  “Can you lift this stuff off him? This guy’s in bad shape,” Case said.

  Buster merely grunted. Naked from the waist up, his towering body gleamed with oil. The surreal reflection of fire in his dark eyes made him look like he’d been ripped from the big screen of an action movie. He bent down and lifted the metal pile enough for Case to pull out the man, confirming he was indeed a superhero.

  As Case pulled the unconscious man out from under the rubble, he heard a dog yelp. Case saw that the man’s right hand held firmly onto the rig dog’s collar. It was an oily, black mutt with frightened eyes. Every rig seemed to adopt a stray, and this one had been trapped along with the oilman. It whined as it was dragged out along with the man who had saved its life.

  As soon as it got out from under the rubble, the mutt shook as dogs do, although the oil still stuck to its coat. The rig dog took off into the dark as the unconscious man slid smoothly over the oil-slicked ground. Case dragged him away from the heat of the fire as a police car pulled up.

  The officer called over to Case. “Anyone hurt?”

  “Two dead, one critical with an artery cut and he’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t know if there are any more or not!” Case yelled.

  The officer nodded and radioed in the blowout.

  “Naw, that’s all!” Case heard another voice shouting with a heavy country accent. He turned to see a man drive up in an oil company pickup. He was out of the truck and running over before it came to a stop. “I’m da tool pusher. There’s only four of us, total. I just ran down to da gas station,” he gasped.

  Between the smoke and his exertion, the tool pusher was having trouble breathing.

  “Holy shit,” he said as he nodded toward the man on whom Case was holding the tourniquet. “Damn, dat’s Johnny. Is he gonna be all right?”

  “I don’t know, but the other two are dead.”

  “Ya sure?”

  “Go check if you want,” Case replied.

  The man didn’t bother. He could see their lifeless forms from where he stood. Distant sirens came closer. An ambulance pulled up. Two EMTs ran to the man Case was helping and took over. Within minutes he was whisked away in the ambulance. Someone put oil-soaked towels over the dead workers. Other emergency workers and firemen began showing up.

  The heat was overwhelming, like being too close to a campfire. Case and Buster were heading back to their truck when Bay City Police Officer Roy Reyna walked over to them.

  “Sir, were you the first one on the scene?” Officer Reyna asked.

  “Yes,” Case answered.

  “Do you have anything to do with this well?”

  “This isn’t our well. We were just driving by when we saw it blow out and pulled over to help,” Case said.

  Officer Reyna wrote down their personal information as well as the details of what they had seen and done. “You gentlemen are free to go. I want to thank you both for what you did,” Officer Reyna said as he extended his hand and shook theirs. “There is no doubt you saved that man’s life.”

  That was a day they’d never forget. Buster was a solid number two at his company.

  14

  June 5, 2018, Tuesday

  Afternoon

  Sam stuck his head into Case’s office. “Sir, your nine o’clock’s here.”

  “Show them in,” Case said.

  Trish walked into Case’s office first. She shook his hand and then introduced him to Bobby. Trish handed Case his burner phone and laptop computer. Case motioned to the royal blue chairs in front of his desk and walked around to sit behind his desk as Trish and Bobby sank into the big seats.

  Case got right to the point. “Trish speaks very highly of you, Bobby. Do you have an update?”

  “I found Krusty’s name,” Trish said.

  “Really? That was fast!” Case leaned forward. “Who is he?”

  “His name is Christian Williams. He lives in Spring with his parents. He’s twenty-five and unemployed.”

  “Good, great! Bobby, can you get on it today?” Case asked.

  “As soon I leave the office,” Bobby replied.

  “Do we have an address?” Case asked.

  “We do,” Trish said.

  “So, how do we proceed from here?” Case asked.

  “Well, Bobby’ll be on the front line,” Trish said. She turned to Bobby. “I need you to figure out who Krusty has been hanging out with—friends, relatives, or whoever, before and after the robbery. The more you can fill in these last four to five weeks, the better. Be discreet. Don’t watch him too tightly. We don’t want him to have the slightest hint we’re on to him.”

  Bobby nodded.

  “That’s exactly right,” Case said. “Trish, keep me updated. We can meet if you have pictures or reports I need to see.”

  “No problem,” Trish said. She turned to Bobby. “Any questions?”

  “Nope. Anything else?” Bobby asked.

  Trish answered him. “I have a tracker for you to put on Krusty’s car, if he has one.” She turned to explain to Case. “This thing is state of the art. You can watch it in real time on your laptop, and you have to change the batteries only every two weeks.”

  “I’m hoping it won't take that long,” Case said solemnly.

  Bobby and Trish exchanged a look that said they knew the stakes were high. As Trish and Bobby continued working out details, Case’s mind shifted to the impact of what he’d initiated. Did he have any right to take the law into his own hands if he decided to do that? Case still felt he could find a way to turn Krusty and anyone else involved over to the cops, especially if there was no trail back to him or the PIs.

  It’s just not fair that my wife and baby are dead.

  His baby boy would never grow up, and he and his wife would never grow old together. Murdered, just as the life they’d wanted had been coming together for them. The death of his wife had shaken Case’s faith. It hit hard, and he felt the despair down to his core. The sorrow was so deep it could drag him down into a black hole if he let it.

  Case knew he possessed the knowledge, desire, and resources to do something about it. He didn’t forget and wouldn’t forgive. He had often told people who had suffered a loss, “Life goes on.” Now he knew—it just wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.

  “Any idea if there was an accomplice?” Case asked, coming out of his thoughts.

  “Still working on that,” Trish said, “but if he’s out there, we'll find him.”

  The
rest of the day was taken up by oil and gas business. Case didn’t eat lunch and hardly had time to take a piss. Then he remembered his appointment with Robert Guess, the alleged Kill Crime author. Case was looking forward to this meeting. He had first learned of the Kill Crime author as the man was being interviewed on television by a young investigative reporter—Jasmine Lee.

  Case clearly remembered the day three weeks ago. Being introduced to the book Kill Crime a week after his wife and son were murdered felt like a sign.

  Three Weeks Ago

  “Sir, you might want to check out this report,” Sam said as he turned on the TV in Case’s office. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you were on the phone.”

  Case had dialed someone, but they hadn’t answered yet, so he hung up. This was Case’s first full day back after the funeral. It felt odd and unsettling. He hoped getting involved in work would allow him to set aside the pain for a few minutes at a time. It was hard to pay attention to anything—his mind wandered easily to his family, or to just nothing and numbness.

  He spun his chair around and put on a smile that he knew must look fake. He watched the news report with Sam. The overweight middle-aged man with gray hair squirmed in his chair and looked pretty uncomfortable. A petite Asian woman with short, jet-black hair and crossed legs leaned into the man. Her intense look and dominating body language screamed she was winning, or at least in control. Sam turned up the volume in time to hear Jasmine Lee finishing a question in her deep, sexy TV voice.

  “… but don’t you feel some moral responsibility for the vigilantism that you profess in your book?”

  Case wondered if she had a soft side or was always a hard-boiled asshole. He looked at his wife’s picture on his desk and smiled. Case only half listened and half watched the TV.

  “It isn’t meant to incite people. To make them think, perhaps, but not to drive them to attempt any moral injustices,” the author said. Under his image on the TV was his name—Robert Guess, author of Kill Crime.