Next Move, You're Dead - Book 1 of the Next Move, You're Dead Trilogy

by Linda L Barton

  A call came into the department of a shooting at an internet company. The caller reported that one of the owners had shot the other one, killing him instantly.

  Once officers arrived on the scene, they found the alleged shooter sitting at his desk, staring blindly ahead, and repeatedly saying, “I have the control now, and you have nothing.”

  When the arresting officer ordered him to put down the gun, George quietly placed it on his desk and went back to repeating his chant.

  ***

  “That guy is either a real nut case or he is one hell of an actor,” Detective Dave Pierce told John on their trip back to the department.

  “Yeah, it sure looks that way. What a waste. Those two had everything you could possibly want, and look what it got them. At least, it’s a clear-cut case of revenge. The victim tries to frame the shooter for embezzlement, making the shooter snap. It must have been a power struggle between them.” John shook his head at the foolish things people did for money and power.

  “I guess he didn’t believe that he had a big enough share of the company and wanted more. Man, if I had that much money I would buy a beautiful boat, and spend all my time on it. Shit, they had everything; what more could they want?” Dave was a sensible man and always spoke of buying a boat and taking off to places unknown. John always liked that about Dave. He understood the road to happiness was to keep life simple, and things in perspective.

  John found himself completely exhausted. It had turned out to be another long day, and he was ready to go home. He had spent the majority of the morning going over the Everett case, trying to see if he could find any holes in it. No one wanted to question the evidence, but John was beginning to doubt it all.

  His training and experience had told him to rely on the evidence and through it; you would always find the truth. Unfortunately, this time, he was afraid everything they knew about this case, was a lie.

  What if the evidence is wrong? The very thought sent a chill coursing through him.

  John was ready to go home for a quiet evening. “Yeah, never I have understood some people,” John laughed as he slapped Dave on the shoulder.

  John laid the unfinished paperwork back on his desk. “Dave it has been a long day. I’m heading home for the night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Chapter 11

  Our Past Always Comes Back to Haunt Us

  John pulled up in his driveway, tired and wanting to relax for the evening. Kathy had flown out that morning for a seminar in Miami so that he would have the house to himself.

  He laughed how she always acted as though she hated to go, but he knew better. Three days in the warm Florida sun, anyone would want to go. He went to the kitchen and heated the leftover’s she left for him in the microwave. Once it was warm, he took the meal to his office to eat while he went through his emails.

  “Oh baby, you do know what I like!” he laughed as the delicious smell of roast beef filled his nostrils.

  ***

  The first few emails were nothing special. There were jokes from co-workers at the Department, along with the typical junk. However, as he went through the list, he noticed one that caught his eye. George and Frank were fun!

  “What the hell is this?” John opened the message and began to read.

  People have always let the pursuit of money and power lead to their destruction. It’s a shame how poor Frank had no idea why he had to die today. He knew nothing of the money transfers made to look as if George was doing it. They both were easy pieces in the game.

  George was the weak one in the pair, making him easy to manipulate. He is a pathetic, little man, who never learned to like himself for all he had accomplished. George had a life anyone would envy, yet it still was not enough for him. Deep inside, he had always known he would be nothing if it were not for Frank carrying him his entire life. This self-loathing was why it was so easy to use him. I was sure he would not have the courage to kill himself, after killing Frank. Have you figured this out yet, John? Have you discovered what your part is in the game? You need to hurry because you are falling behind; first with the Everett case, and now with this one. It’s your move; now let us see what you have. I do hope you’re able to live up to my expectations, John.

  Suddenly the screen flashed, and in a swirling motion, the email vanished with no trace left behind.

  John stared at the blank screen, trying to grasp what had just happened. “What did I just read, and how do they know all of that? Hell, it only happened a few hours ago!”

  John took another bite of his dinner and thought through things again. Could this be true? Were those poor men set up to be pawns in some sick game, but if so, how did he do it? To break into the secure system at a company like that would take someone who worked there or a professional hacker.

  A sickening feeling washed over John. “How am I involved in these two cases, and what is my part in this game he keeps referring to?” John groaned.

  Pushing his fears aside, John went to the final email with Sleeping Beauty Died in the subject line. He opened the email with a picture of a beautiful woman with long flowing hair, dressed in a silk nightgown appearing on the screen. He leaned in closer to the screen and noticed an unusual pendant hanging from a gold chain around her neck.

  It must be some unique family crest; he thought to himself.

  There was no caption, simply her picture. Who are you, and why was I sent your picture? As he stared at the image of the sleeping woman, words began to form on the screen.

  The lovely rests in eternal slumber,

  With dreams of angels flowing through her mind.

  She knew not the way her path would take her,

  Do you know why Sleeping Beauty had to die?

  In a blink, the picture was gone. “Okay, what’s going on here?” John sat up straight, trying to understand the meaning of the message, and photo.

  “Who sent that email?” he mumbled as a cold and foreboding sensation possessed him again. Could this email have anything to do with the strange caller who told me I was part of a game?

  John had no idea who this woman was, but she must have something to do with the strange caller. He leaned back in his chair when a terrifying thought came to him. Is she dead?

  John thought of everything that had happened recently, trying to make sense of it all.

  Are we possibly getting these cases wrong? Is someone staging crimes for a sick game, but why involve me?

  A new thought entered his mind that made his blood run cold. Are these people dying because of me? Oh God, what if more will die for his game?

  “What did he call my part in this…Tracker? That’s it; I am supposed to track down the clues, and expose the truth about the murders!” John pounded the desk with his hand, feeling in control of things again.

  John decided the game was one of lies and misdirection. Oh, my God, he’s committing the crimes and setting up others to appear as the guilty parties! Surely, it isn’t that simple, is it?

  This new revelation caused John to pause, and rethink the entire ordeal. Each case had appeared solved beyond any doubt, and those guilty of committing the crimes were awaiting trial for murder.

  Maybe he’s only playing a mind game with me, by making me question the evidence. That cannot be it though because he knows far too many intricate details of each case, even those not known to the public.

  John’s mind spun wildly, and for the first time in years, he wanted a good stiff drink. He rubbed his eyes, trying to comprehend the whole thing when the telephone rang. He reached for the receiver, praying it wasn’t work related, “Hello.”

  “How are you this evening, John? I see you’ve opened my emails.”

  “What are you up to, and how did you get this number? It’s unlisted, and how did you get my personal email address?” John’s body shook, as the anger churning inside of him grew to a dangerous level.

  “Oh, John, it was no problem
at all. You see, I know everything about you. I know how both of your parents died when you were very young, and that your uncle and aunt raised you. I also know you grew up wanting to be a detective like your uncle and how devastated you were when he was forced to retire early. I know how you watched him drink himself to death with no one able help him. It’s quite sad that he died before you graduated from the Academy because I’m sure he would have been proud of you. I also know about your partner, and how he died during your early days on the force. Tell me, John, how it feels to know you received your detective’s badge washed in your partner’s blood?” he taunted.

  “You bastard; what are you up to?” John’s hand shook while crushing the telephone receiver.

  “You already know, John. It’s all part of The Game,” the voice teased. “You need to get busy if you are going to stay up on the moves. Did you enjoy the picture of the beautiful woman? It is such a shame she had to die with having such a compelling reason to live. I want you to know how thrilled she was with the news of her coming treasure. It is a shame that her poor husband will never understand why she did it. He will deny the hotel receipts, but each one is traceable back to his office computer and his corporate credit card. He will swear he has never cheated on his wife, but everything will clearly point a finger of guilt to his infidelity. I want you to know she was a special piece in The Game, and it was nothing personal. John, you need to relax tonight, for tomorrow will be a very exciting day. I think you will enjoy this next move in The Game, and do remember that things are not always, as they appear. Oh yes, before I forget, I left you a little something in your desk drawer. I thought it might help take the edge off things this evening. I know how it used to be your favorite. Goodnight, John; we’ll talk again soon.” The telephone call ended.

  “Oh, God, please say this isn’t true. Please don’t tell me an innocent woman died as part of his sick game!”

  John thought back to the beautiful face in the email, and those chilling words - Sleeping Beauty Died.

  “How does he know so many personal things about me?”

  He stared at the blank screen when a shiver moved over him. “What did he say; he left me something in my desk drawer?”

  John sat straight up, his eyes burning with fury. “Shit, he’s been in my house!”

  John’s mind raced, wondering what to do next. Should he call the department and have someone come out to look around, but how would he explain it to them?

  Let us see here, I have been receiving communications from some mystery person who appears to know everything about me and our latest cases. The same individual says I am the Tracker in his game, and it is my job to learn what he is up to before he makes his next move. I know the cases appear solved, but I am beginning to believe that we may have them wrong.

  “They would lock me up in the psych ward so fast I wouldn’t know what hit me,” he scoffed at how foolish the story sounded even to him.

  “No, I’m going to have to figure this out on my own. The bastard wants to play; so let’s play!”

  He slowly reached for the drawer handle and held his breath, unsure of what to expect. Once the drawer was open, he looked down to find a bottle of his favorite whiskey nestled amongst his papers. He reached for the bottle then hesitated a moment, wondering if he ought to call the department, after all.

  John closed his eyes and heard the taunting voice in his mind pushing his hand onward to the bottle. As he cautiously lifted the bottle from the drawer, he was surprised how the sensation of the glass neck of the bottle in his hand brought back a familiar feeling from long ago.

  Years earlier, John swore he would never allow himself to feel that way again. Unfortunately, the amber contents hidden inside offered a comforting sensation and promise of release from all his problems.

  John placed the bottle on the desk with a gentle touch; the way one would treat a lover. Then he sat motionless, fighting the desire to surrender to its siren song.

  John promised Kathy that he would never drink whiskey again. His drinking had nearly destroyed their marriage when he had turned to it after Ray’s death. In all the years since that terrible time, John had never craved whiskey; that was until tonight.

  Why now? John thought to himself, but the battle raging inside him was overpowering

  “Hell, what could it hurt; I’ll only take a sip. Besides, I know it’s not poison because the sick bastard still needs me for his little game!”

  John reached for the coffee cup on the shelf behind him, filled it half way, and swallowed it without a blink.

  He lifted the bottle again, this time stopping to look at the inviting, amber liquid. He knew the mistake made by partaking of its intense pleasures.

  “To hell with it, I’m a grown man! If I want a drink, I will damn well have one!” He tipped the bottle into the cup; this time filling it to the top. John enjoyed the inviting smell emanating from the open bottle, and the sound it made as it splashed into the cup.

  “It sure has been a long time, old friend.” He placed the cup to his lips and took a deep swallow. A warm sensation washed over him as if reuniting with an old friend. As he leaned back in his chair, the memories of the day Ray died flowed into his mind.

  ***

  It was a typical day for John and his partner, Ray Neivans when they received a call to go check on some suspicious activity in an abandoned building a few blocks away. They knew drug dealers were using the buildings, and the word on the street was they cut the drugs with poisons to enhance the high. There had already been two deaths related to the drugs, so the opportunity to catch those responsible would be a real feather in John’s hat.

  John was hungry for a high-profile bust to help him make Detective. Being young and impulsive; however, made him more likely to react with poor judgment. When John and Ray arrived at the reported building, they quietly surveyed the situation. John signaled that he would go around to the back, and Ray would stay by the squad car to call for backup before they did anything else. John knew he ought to wait, but as he got in position; he heard voices coming from inside.

  They were speaking in hushed tones, but John heard one of them say that he had to leave to meet with a customer.

  There’s no way any of these people will get away; John thought to himself.

  Believing that Ray had already called for backup and was waiting; John charged through the back door, catching the drug dealers by surprise. He knew his actions were against everything his training had taught him in situations such as this, but his hunger for glory overrode his training and his better sense.

  When the door flew open, John saw two men standing by a makeshift table covered with small bags of white powder. He charged in with his gun drawn, and yelled, “Freeze, Police!”

  One of the men reached for a gun lying on the table, but John fired first, critically injuring him.

  Ray had finished his call for backup and was standing by the cruiser when the fleeing man caught him by surprise. Before Ray was able to react, the man shot him in the face, killing him instantly.

  While in pursuit of the fleeing man, John ran out of the front door in time to witness the back of his partners head burst in a spray of blood. He fired at the man, killing him on the spot.

  John then rushed to the cruiser, grabbed the microphone, and called for help. “Officer down, Officer down!”

  The words barely escaped his mouth before several backup cars charged into the parking lot. John told them of the injured man inside, and what had happened. When the ambulance took Ray’s body away, John thought of what he had done wrong.

  Ray is dead! Ray trusted me, and I let him down! The images playing out in his mind were too terrible to believe.

  ***

  Over the next few weeks, John fought with the guilt of his decision to charge into the warehouse. The first man shot had survived and provided the names of some of the biggest suppliers in the area. This bust was the one Joh
n had dreamed of, as it earned him the detective’s badge. However, the price paid was too great for him to accept.

  John received praise from the higher-ups in the department, but he knew Ray’s life was the price paid for his promotion. No matter what anyone said, he was aware that he had allowed his desire for glory to overshadow his training.

  John knew if he had waited a few more minutes, Ray would still be alive, and his son would still have a father. John knew his thirst for glory had destroyed a family he loved.

  The guilt ate at John like cancer, and he wondered if he would ever know happiness again.

  Kathy began to worry about John as she watched him become distant and withdrawn.

  “Please John, you need to talk about this, it’s not good to hold it all inside,” Kathy pleaded, but he would just look at her and walk away.

  The guilt continued to eat away at him until he began to numb his pain with an occasional drink after work. As time went on the occasional drink grew into stopping at a local bar on the way home from work. He then began hiding bottles in his desk at work, his car, and in his office at home.

  John’s drinking reached the breaking point when during an arrest he began to pistol whip a drug dealer, while yelling in a blind rage, “This is for Ray, you son-of-a-bitch!”

  The next few days as John lay in a hospital bed and strapped down for his protection. After tears and pleas for forgiveness, John finally agreed to get help to overcome his feelings of guilt. After several months of intensive therapy, John was able to return to work even though he had only buried his guilt deeper inside of him.

  John was thankful to Kathy for sticking by him throughout his difficult ordeal. He knew he would have surrendered to the guilt without her love and support. Now, John had the opportunity to be the detective Ray believed he would be someday.

  ***

  John hated those memories because the guilt and remorse had never gone away. They were always there barely under the surface; ready to bubble up with the slightest nudge. John took the bottle, filled the cup again, and held it in the air. “Here’s to you Ray, my brother in arms and friend; I wish it had been me.”

  ***

  John awoke slumped over his desk with a pounding headache. He opened his eyes and saw the empty bottle sitting there as a painful reminder of the night before.