Hidden Crime
Page 1
Hidden Crime
Hangman #3
WL Knightly
BrixBaxter Publishing
Contents
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Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
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Description
Now that Detective Jake Thomas knows the Hangman’s true identity, he’s on the path to wrapping up the case, but when a revelation about Jo’s family makes waves between them, will they be able to see eye to eye and make it happen, or will the truth put obstacles in their way?
* * *
When Kyle Young comes to town with an agenda of his own, it puts him straight in the Hangman’s sights. Will the Hangman’s revenge plot go as planned, or will he find himself with some unhealthy competition?
Chapter 1
Jake
Things were going as planned for the Hangman, who sat plotting at his mismatched, farm-style kitchen table. His wife had bought it for their new home and had it moved there as a surprise for him when he came back from his last tour.
Although he had his plan all mapped out in his head, he hadn’t done much in the way of writing things down, but he did keep a list of names that he liked to scribble through, one by one, after each crime. He found a black pen lying on the table and marked through Chief Patrick O’Connor’s name. Then he looked down at the next one, wondering if all was going to go as planned.
Things were getting riskier with each kill. And now that he’d gone and upset the entire police department, the heat would be on after the initial shock wore off from them losing their chief. It had been hard enough for them since losing Officer Hayden Daniels, but now that their leader had fallen, they would be out for blood. Especially Detective Jake Thomas, who had no doubt looked up to the old man.
Yeah, the last kill was a good slap in the face. But the old man got what he deserved.
As he read the name Cane Preston, that of the attorney who was responsible for representing Kyle Young in the case against him for the murder of the Hangman’s family, he thought about the old man’s sudden trip out of town.
He had been watching him for the past several days, as he had done for all of his targets. He could only guess what Michael Young and the old attorney had cooked up this time, knowing the Hangman was coming for them. They had obviously made a deal and planned a hit, which went horribly wrong when the Hangman had taken Clay White and held him with the chief.
He had a feeling White had not made it to an emergency room and was probably dealt with by another one of Michael’s thugs. Now, all he could do was wait for the asshole’s return.
One thing to be thankful for was the fact that Cane Preston was barely in practice anymore. That made him harder to reach, but since he played golf at the club four days a week, it wasn’t impossible.
His eyes went down the list, and he wondered if he should skip ahead to Michael Young, even though it was against his plans. The man was no doubt going to be leaving town again soon, but with his daughter in town and the events of the past several weeks in motion, he would no doubt return. Maybe it was time to let things go for a bit. The Hangman could go into hiding and wait it out. He could go back to being his alias, living in the family farmhouse and waiting for the opportune time to strike his last targets and end the game once and for all.
He rose from his chair and headed to the couch where he spent most of his nights. The bed just seemed too lonely. He stretched out on the cushions, thinking of how his daughter used to always wake him up.
He remembered one time in particular, and as he closed his eyes, it played out in his mind.
“Daddy? You’ve been asleep too long.” He could still feel the slap from her tiny hands on his chest before she cupped his face. “Daddy?”
His wife’s voice sounded from across the room. “Emma, baby. Daddy is sleepy. Let him sleep.”
“No, it’s okay,” he said, stirring from a long nap. “I’m awake now.” Even though he was tired, he would rather spend his time with his beautiful girls. “I know it’s my first official day home, but I’m home for good now. And I want to start it off right.”
Emma was just as bright-eyed as Alyssa, and her sweet voice held promise to one day sound just like her too. “Mama said we could plant flowers today at the other house.”
“We should get the kitchen floor done first. If we want to move in quicker, at least.”
Emma gave him a sideward look. “But the floor is done—”
Alyssa’s eyes widened as she stepped in. “Emma, why don’t you go and put away your drawing pad and crayons?”
Emma looked as if she realized she’d slipped up and done something wrong. “Okay.”
He had a feeling that something was up. “What was that all about? What’s going on with the kitchen floor?”
“It’s a surprise, okay? You’ll see it when you get there.” She had gone and done the floor without him, and he hoped it was going to be the one they’d both agreed on in their plans.
“Is it a good surprise or a bad one?” He had already come home to a few surprises, one being that the car needed new tires, and the other a clogged sink in the bathroom.
“Daddy, look!” Emma ran into the room with her drawing book and laid in his lap as she held on to the small box of crayons. “It’s a new game.”
Before he got an answer from Alyssa, she was gone, so he gave Emma his full attention. “What is it?” He looked down at the tablet and found his daughter had drawn a little stick figure who was hanging from a stick-figure gallows. “Oh, I’ve played this before. It’s Hangman.”
Alyssa turned around. “She learned that from Hilda across the street. I tried to tell her that Emma might be a bit young for that one in particular. She said word games would help her with her spelling and reading. We’ve been playing that a lot lately.” Alyssa gave her husband a sly grin like it was now his turn to suffer.
He didn’t mind playing one bit. Anything to spend time with his girl. “We used to play this as kids. I was pretty good at it.”
Emma’s eyes lit with her smile. “Really, Daddy? Let’s play!” She took the tablet to the coffee table and drew her gallows. Then she made three spaces and turned her attention back to him. “Okay, so you have to give me a letter.”
“That’s it? Three letters?” He smiled, wondering if she knew any bigger words.
Alyssa giggled from the other side of the kitchen bar. “She’s only five, Daddy. Kindergarten, remember?”
“I’ll be six soon, and I’m learning some with four and five letters.”
“Ah, four-letter words are Daddy’s favorite,” he said as he looked up and smiled at his wife.
The joke went over his child’s head, thankfully. “Really? Which ones?” She gave him a quizzical look.
Alyssa cleared her throat. “Dad
dy can’t share his favorites. They are bad words.”
Emma covered her mouth and giggled. “You can’t say bad words, Daddy. You’ll have to put money in the swear jar.”
“Is that still a thing around here?” He glanced over at Alyssa, who nodded her head.
“Ever since your last time home. You picked up some nasty ones.”
He and Alyssa shared a smile. He had brought the F-Bomb into their home and to Emma’s ears.
“Good to know,” he said, remembering how he’d already put a cool twenty in the jar.
“Pick a letter, silly.” She gave him an encouraging nudge.
“How about an R?” He laughed when she shook her head and then drew a circle at the gallows.
“Oh no. What about a Z?” Now he was just goofing around, hoping to make her laugh.
She shook her head again. “Try a better letter.” She drew a long line for the body.
“Q,” he said with a chuckle as she sighed and drew an arm. “Qs are good. They have a squiggly tail.”
But she wasn’t impressed with the guess. “Daddy! You’re going to die if you don’t guess it.”
“Oh, okay. How about the letter A? Let’s do that one.” He watched as her face lit up and she filled in the blank with the letter.
“Yay! Try another one. And one of the others is close to that letter.” She pointed to the A.
“Wow, I’m so bad at this that you’re having to give me hints now.” He shook his head as Alyssa laughed from the kitchen. “Let’s try a D.”
“No! Don’t pick that one, Daddy. I don’t want you to die!” She was growing increasingly emotional, and he realized that while he was kidding around, she was taking the game very seriously.
“It’s okay, honey. It’s just a game.”
But it wasn’t a game to her. “You can’t die. You have to win!” Her little brows pinched together, and she drew a stick for the arm. “Think meow!” She was pulling for him so hard that he realized it was time to take the game seriously.
He put a finger to his temple as if he were really concentrating. “Hmm, I’m feeling lucky. Give me a C.”
She grinned bigger as she drew in the C. “Can you guess?”
“Is it ‘cat’?” he asked.
She cheered. “Yes! Great job!”
“That was a hard one.”
“You were just being silly, Daddy.” She rolled her eyes and plopped down next to him on the couch. “I like cats. Don’t you?”
“I love cats,” he said, and Alyssa cleared her throat. “Well, like them. I like cats? Right, honey?” He narrowed his eyes and shrugged, thinking Alyssa wanted him to say something else.
Alyssa shook her head and then looked up from the cake mix she had dumped in the mixing bowl. “She’s a clever one. She’s been on me for getting a cat, but I told her that we couldn’t until after we moved.”
Emma threw her mom a pleading look. “But I’d take care of it, and it could move with us. It would like to have two houses too. And besides, it needs time to eat all of the mice here before it moves and eats the ones there.”
He and Alyssa exchanged glances. “Do we have a mouse problem?” His heart sank thinking he’d left them all that time to deal with such a problem.
“No,” said Alyssa. “I’d have called an exterminator.”
“Even if we don’t have mice, we could feed it kibble. That’s what Luna feeds her cat.”
“Ah, your friend has a new cat?”
“She got it for her birthday. It’s so fluffy and gray, and I want one that’s fluffy too. But I want mine to be snow white. I’m going to name her after my favorite princess.”
Alyssa walked into the room with two bags of morsels. “Peanut butter or chocolate chip? I’m making cake-mix cookies.”
“Both,” said Emma.
“Yes, both,” he agreed.
Suddenly, Alyssa narrowed her eyes and walked around the sofa to the table behind it. “Uh, honey. Did you forget something?”
He turned around, and she held his large knife, giving him a hard look like a scolding mother. “Sorry, baby. I guess I have to get used to being around little girls and ladies. I’ll do better.”
“I might have to make a jar for you putting your weapons away. We’d have a fortune by now.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don’t forget to put it out of reach.”
Alyssa went back to the kitchen after handing him the knife with a knowing smile. He got up and took it to their room to stash it in the closet as Emma followed. “Daddy, I want you to keep my picture.”
“I tell you what. You put it with your shoes, and we’ll take it to the new house and hang it up.” He put the knife on the top shelf and left it there. Turning around, he glanced over toward the bed and found his daughter lying on the bed next to her mother, her little body limp and bloody.
Back in the present, he opened his eyes and sat up, his entire body covered with sweat. “Fuck,” he said, raking his hand through his hair, and looked out the window. It was still night. He put his hand to his throat, feeling the scar that marred his flesh, and thought of how the rest of the day had played out.
Later that day, when the family had gone to the new house, his little girl had hung the picture there on his workbench. She had been so proud of it. While he loved it, he had no idea at the time how significant it was, but he would later realize how important that drawing had been to him. It had, in fact, saved his life.
Weeks after the trial, after he had gone to O’Connor for one last effort to get the police to take a closer look at Kyle Young, which he refused, he had gone back home and drank himself into a stupor until he passed out. He woke up on the floor and realized how hopeless his life had become. He hadn’t been able to stay at the other house with what happened there, and each day he woke up in the new house without them, knowing there was nothing he could do about the animals who had murdered them, he grew more bitter.
He decided there was only one answer, and so he went down to the basement and found a length of rope. After making his noose and securing it to an old beam up in the ceiling, he climbed up on a chair and put the rope around his neck.
He closed his eyes and took one last breath, then stepped off of the chair, feeling the rope tighten. To his surprise, the beam cracked, and he hung there, his whole body shaking. Conscious, he realized it was going to be a slow and painful death, but he was ready for it.
Then, he caught a glimpse of the paper his daughter had hung up on his workbench and remembered her voice shouting at him. “I don’t want you to die, Daddy! You have to win!” She had been so serious about the game that day, and there he was, giving up on the biggest game of them all.
He reached up and grabbed the rope, and with all of his might, he pulled himself up and then swung his leg over the beam, which cracked and snapped in a matter of seconds under the strain. Thankfully, he managed to pull the rope free, and with the noose still around his neck, he fell to the floor, hitting the chair on the way down.
The rope had bitten into his skin more than he thought, and while it had ripped into the flesh and given him a sore throat, it wasn’t anything he had to go to the hospital for. Although little did he know at the time, his voice would never be the same.
He quickly pulled the rope from around his neck and threw it into a pile of rubble that he’d created with the fall. Then buried his face in his hands, but he did not weep.
He knew what he had to do. With everything in him, he would win. He had watched while the justice system played games and made deals, but he was going to turn the tables and make them pay.
He ran his fingers along the scar on his neck and realized that he had indeed died that day, and when he’d returned from the dead, he had become the Hangman.
Chapter 2
Jake
The ride back to Jo’s house had been tense. Not only had Jake’s memories come flooding back—all but the Hangman’s first name—but he was floored about her relation to Michael and Kyle Young. Her fat
her? Her brother? Kyle is her fucking brother. The man is a cold-hearted killer. Every time he thought about it, he wanted to hit a fucking wall. Instead, he took it out on the Camaro’s gas pedal.
The day had already been crazy enough working the scene after a man found the chief’s body hanging in an old boathouse. He had just seen Chief O’Connor the day before, and while he knew that the Hangman was out to get him, he just didn’t think the man would have the chance to get to him.
Calling his wife, Callie, had been the real heartbreaker up until the moment Jo revealed who her father was. He looked over at her and felt the anger burn in his chest. How could she fail to mention that?
They got to the house, and Jo opened the car door. Jake got and went to the front of the car to wait for her to join him. He was seething inside, still in shock from the revelation. He felt it better if he got his answers and left. But first, he had to hear her out.
She dug in the outside pocket of her handbag. “I just need to find my keys,” she said, walking past. She had her head down and her shoulders drawn in, which gave her a frail look.
He fought the urge to pick her up and carry her inside, but he knew what they had cooking was spoiled. He had to forget all about it and was thankful in a way that things hadn’t gone too far. It would be easy to leave her behind and get her out of his head. Soon enough, he wouldn’t have to look at her every day, and that day couldn’t come soon enough.