Kiss & Tell

by Luke Murphy

  Kiss & Tell

  A Charlene Taylor Mystery

  Luke Murphy

  KISS & TELL

  A Charlene Taylor Mystery #1

  Copyright © 2018 by Luke Murphy. All Rights Reserved.

  IF YOU RECEIVED THIS BOOK FREE VIA A WEBSITE DOWNLOAD ON A SHARE OR TORRENT SITE, YOU HAVE AN ILLEGAL COPY AND CAN BE PROSECUTED FOR COPYRIGHT THEFT.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. And any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead (or in any other form), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  www.authorlukemurphy.com

  SECOND EDITION eBook

  ANM Books

  June 15, 2018

  ISBN: 978-1-7753759-2-0

  Cover designed by Ryan Doan – www.ryandoanart.com

  & Casey Snyder Design – www.caseysnyderdesign.com

  Table of Contents

  KISS & TELL

  Copyright

  Praise for Kiss & Tell

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Message from the Author

  Novels by Luke Murphy

  About the Author

  Praise for Kiss & Tell

  “Luke Murphy scores big with this deep psychological thriller. Just when you think you’ve got things pegged, Murphy serves up another twist. Fast paced and fun, you won’t want to put this book down.”

  —Tim Green, New York Times bestselling author of Unstoppable

  “An intricately detailed and clever mystery featuring a tough minded but vulnerable protagonist with more than a few demons of her own. The twists and turns kept me guessing to the very end.”

  —Christy Reece, New York Times bestselling author of Nothing To Lose

  “Luke Murphy’s Kiss & Tell is a character driven page-turner with an interesting plot. The main character, LAPD Detective Charlene Taylor, draws the reader into her world for a ride throughout the book. This is one definitely not to miss.”

  —Dianna T. Benson, bestselling author of The Hidden Son

  “Luke Murphy’s heroine, Charlene Taylor, is tough and tender. Kiss & Tell is a first-rate police procedural. Hang on. You’ll have fun.”

  —James Thayer, author of The House of Eight Orchids

  “Luke Murphy’s novel, Kiss & Tell, has lots of twists and turns, and police procedures where the good guy, in this case, Charlene Taylor, is not always good. The characters come to life with suspense, drama, explosive action, and an ending you never see coming.”

  —John Foxjohn, USA Today bestselling author of Killer Nurse

  For Molly—thank you for making our family complete. Welcome to the Murphy clan.

  Acknowledgements

  The most important people in my life: my wife Mélanie, my rock and number one supporter. My daughters, Addison, Nève and Molly, who didn’t always realize that Daddy had to write, but took my mind off things with games and dancing.

  I’m the first to admit that this novel was not a solo effort. I’ve relied on many generous and intelligent people to turn this book into a reality. I’d like to thank the following people who had a hand in making this novel what it is today. I’m indebted to you all.

  (The Conception) I need to thank the creative and very brilliant Mrs. Joan Conrod, Mr. John Stevens, Ms. Nadine Doolittle, Ms. Kathy Leveille and Ms. Lisa Murphy

  (The Touch-ups) A special thanks for those last minute edits and details, as well as the final nod to The Jennifer Lyons Literary Agency

  (The Research) For their professional expertise, knowledge in their field and valuable information, thanks to Ms. Joanna Pozzulo (Institute of Criminology and Criminal Justice), Keith MacLellan M.D., The Los Angeles Police Department, The Los Angeles City Attorney’s Office, Darron Barr (CTE Solutions), Joshua Beardsley (WEpc) and Franco Zic

  Any procedural, geographical, or other errors pertaining to this story are of no fault to the names mentioned above, but entirely my own, as at times I took many creative liberties.

  And last but not least, I’d like to thank you, the reader. You make it all worthwhile

  Prologue

  Dead End

  He pulled the old Honda into the dark abandoned alley, killed the lights, and cut the engine. Even with the windows up, the stench of urine, vomit and waste assaulted him. The steady, dismal downpour did nothing to conceal it.

  The slow, light drizzle had not diminished the latest LA heat wave, but with its subtropical-Mediterranean climate, rain was a welcomed event.

  Parked next to a rusty, dented blue dumpster, Martin Taylor adjusted his Dodger hat, his alert eyes scanning the deserted area. There was nothing to see except three cinder-block, graffiti-designed walls, as the disinvested buildings had been gutted and vacated. The only sound was the relentless hum of Asian music from the back door of a Chinese takeout restaurant.

  He didn’t like it. He was almost trapped within the u-shaped alley, with nowhere to turn his vehicle. He’d thought about backing in because, as it was, any chance of a quick, clean getaway would be impossible. But he needed this lead. Not just for the city, but for his ego.

  He checked his watch. He was ten minutes early, so Martin took the time to think about the phone call that had lured him to the area known as Skid Row, in downtown Los Angeles.

  He remembered the downtown as it was in the ’70s, when the sites and attractions drew both residents and tourists, but the economic downturn had changed all of that. From where he sat, he could hear the city’s Metro rapid transit system running throughout the night.

  Now there was a new threat in town: The Celebrity Slayer, so dubbed by the media.

  The serial killer was devastating the city, taking lives and leaving angry, malicious scenes—scenes that also left behind no criminal evidence to sort.

  He was killing ‘B’ list celebrities, but his actions, his talents, were anything but ‘B’ list. The LAPD’s resources were running dry trying to find the guy. The media was having a field day. The paparazzi, ETalk, Entertainment Tonight and Radar Online, were playing to the madman’s ego, feeding his narcissistic personality. He had become a celebrity overnight.

  Less than an hour ago, a call had come in on Martin’s cell phone, someone claiming to have pertinent information concerning the Celebrity Slayer file. He was given this address. But he still couldn’t figure out how a stranger had gotten his unlisted number. That alone chilled him to the bone, but in this day and age, the internet was a highway of information and anyone could get anything. It wasn’t always a
positive advancement.

  Movement to his left. His eyes moved quickly, darting like a cat pouncing on a mouse.

  He threw on the headlights but the beams didn’t cover the side wall. When he saw a form appear out of the shadows and approach the vehicle, Martin rolled down his window and touched his shoulder holster. Then the body moved into the light, and Martin released the grip on his pistol handle.

  “What are you doing here?” Martin asked, a look of both concern and surprise registering on his face. He looked around the alley. “Is Charlie here? Did you follow me?”

  When his questions went unanswered, Martin felt a strange sensation rise in his chest. Something was wrong, out of place.

  That’s when he knew. His neck tingled and the hairs sprung on his arms.

  He went for his gun a second too late. The killer had a silenced weapon drawn, and had stuck it through the open window frame.

  “It can’t be you.” Martin realized the words came out as more of a statement than a question.

  “Where’s the file?” the man asked in a curt voice.

  “What file?” Stall him.

  But when he looked into the eyes of the deranged killer, Martin Taylor saw that deep in the back of those eyes a hatred darker than night burned, and a homicidal maniac struggled for release.

  How could I have missed it?

  The last thing he thought before feeling the burning sensation of hot lead was that his daughter was in grave danger.

  Book I

  Double-Edge Sword

  Chapter 1

  Hot tears temporarily blinded her.

  She stood on the soggy ground at Angelus Rosedale Cemetery roiling with emotion, looking down at the American flag-covered casket, forcing herself to face a harshest of reality checks. Denial ripped her soul.

  Officer Charlene Taylor stood tall in her LAPD blues, her long, fair hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her mother and older sister stood next to her as the three women wept.

  Her head throbbed, nausea overwhelmed her, and her mouth was dry.

  She still couldn’t believe that her father, Martin Taylor, retired Grade III Detective and Sergeant II on the LAPD, had been found dead in his car, shot point-blank. Over forty years on the force and not a scratch. He’d been retired less than five years.

  Charlene never thought she’d follow in her father’s footsteps, but that was all she knew—that was all he had taught her.

  Her eyes wandered over the predominantly LAPD crowd. She was trying to conjure up any kind of happy childhood memory with her father when Charlene spotted Andy standing in the back of the crowd.

  “What’s he doing here?” Charlene whispered to herself.

  “What?” her older sister asked, looking up, her eyes red-rimmed.

  Charlene shook her head. She looked back at Andy, sun bleached highlights in his brown hair. He’d been a track athlete in school and had maintained his athletic physique. His charcoal eyes matched his finely tailored Gucci suit.

  They’d met at NYU four years ago, in her senior year, had a fling, and Charlene was happy to leave it at that. But when she moved back to LA, Andy had followed.

  They’d been on-again, off-again since that time. He treated her like a queen and the sex was great, but for some reason she just hadn’t been able to make that connection she longed for. He was a good soul with a kind heart, so what was she looking for?

  Her mother and Jane had fallen for Andy’s charm the first time they’d met him, but Charlene’s father had not taken to Andy. He had thought there was something off about him.

  She wasn’t sure where they stood. She hadn’t heard from Andy in a week, not since he’d stormed out of her apartment, and now he showed up here. He had wanted more, but she was happy with the way they were. What was she so afraid of?

  Crack!

  She was startled by the loud rifle shots, a gun salute performed at every policeman’s funeral, a tribute to a team member lost. Even though her father was retired, he would forever be a part of the LAPD family.

  Charlene knew the drill well, knew it from attending such funerals since she’d been a child, a sad part of her third-generation cop-family routine. At every funeral in the past, she’d felt moved, part of a close-knit tribe.

  But this was different.

  Her blue eyes scanned the crowd. The mayor, chief of police, captains, along with many of her father’s friends and former colleagues, lined up to extend condolences. Charlene shook hands and accepted hugs, appreciating the gesture, but it all felt like an empty ritual, as much for the TV cameras and police department image as anything else.

  Her street partner, Officer Jason Schmidt, approached tentatively, a concerned expression on his face. Cops hated funerals. With stiff, awkward movements, Jason wrapped his arms around Charlene and she could feel her partner’s warmth. He whispered in her ear. “How you holdin’ up, Chip?”

  She nodded imperceptibly. “Okay.”

  He let go the embrace and looked into her eyes, gently stroking her arms with his strong hands. “If there’s anything I can do,” he said, not needing to finish his sentence.

  After the crowd filed out, Charlene stood with her family, but she felt alone. An awkward moment of silence passed. Jane squeezed her hand, and her mother hugged her.

  “You were always his girl,” her mother mouthed, barely audible, her eyes moist and sad as she attempted a valiant smile.

  Charlene didn’t respond. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say about an absentee father? She searched for answers. There were no family vacations, no memories. Martin Taylor had been all about the job.

  Charlene felt a deep connection with her father, but only through police work. Those were the only things she remembered—time at the station, reviewing crime scene photos, following procedures. They had nothing else. She couldn’t remember a conversation they’d had that didn’t involve cop talk.

  He had missed her childhood. He wasn’t around for the real times—the first boyfriend, the first date, graduation…her father had missed it all.

  Tears of anger rolled down her cheeks. Rage pounded in her chest as she thought about the things she had never said to him, and now never would.

  When she opened her eyes, she was alone, her mother and sister retreating to the car for warmth and dryness.

  She knew it was a two-way street. She hadn’t been the easiest daughter to love. Charlene was the screw-up daughter who defied her cop-dad until one day she surprised everyone by following in his footsteps.

  Now, with her father gone, she’d lost any chance to make it right with him.

  She tried to blink back the tears, lost the confrontation with her emotions, and struggled for self-control as she thought about the scene.

  His body had been found in his car, lifeless in the driver’s seat, entry wound to the chest—shot point-blank. The case was ongoing, but the leads were growing colder with each passing day. LAPD went all out for one of their own, but on day four they still had nothing.

  Why would someone kill a retired cop? What had her father been doing there? No one could answer that.

  She was going to get some answers…somehow.

  ~ * ~

  He sat behind the steering wheel of the idling car parked in a row of vehicles, watching her through the windshield, his face hidden behind a hat and dark sunglasses.

  Only moments earlier, he had been close enough to smell her perfume, to taste the salty tears that ran down her cheeks. He’d wanted to reach out and touch her. It was all he could do not to.

  The crowd had departed—family and friends leaving her alone. He understood the moment was killing her. A slight smile tugged the corners of his lips. He enjoyed watching her. The way she moved, with grace and athleticism, the sadness in her eyes, the rage that was building inside her—it all brought a shiver of excitement reaching his groin.

  Oh, how he wanted to be close to her, to touch her in ways she never knew.

  Killing Martin Taylor hadn’t been
in the cards. The old man had gotten too close, had found out things he shouldn’t have. He should have left well enough alone. It wasn’t supposed to happen, and he didn’t want to kill the old man. He actually liked Marty.

  But he also liked the nickname the media have given him, even if they were a bunch of egotistical, no-nothing lackeys. He had to admit the Celebrity Slayer was kind of catchy.

  The cops still couldn’t connect Taylor’s murder to the Celebrity Slayer, but he would get the word out. He knew just the intercessor he would use. It would be so ironic, so perfect. So…complete.

  He watched Charlene Taylor’s every move, studied every action, noted her every instinct. She’d been born to be a cop. It was in her blood. It was obvious, but he wanted to find out just how good she really was.

  Is she as good as her father?