Games of Guilt: A Crime Thriller (Hidden Guilt Book 3 of 3)

by Terry Keys

  GAMES OF GUILT

  Copyright © 2017 Terry Keys

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author is unlawful piracy and is theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes) written permission must be obtained by the author tkeys15@yahoo.com.

  ISBN-10: 1530442532

  ISBN-13: 978-1530442539

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Games of Guilt (Hidden Guilt)

  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

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Death Toll Rising | Prologue

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  “This is an amazing book. I couldn't put it down. I finished it in one day. I cannot wait for the next one. Terry is a great author!!”

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  For Mom and Dad

  DEDICATION

  I enjoy reading books, articles, magazines anything that I can get my hands on. You can learn so much through the written word. Fans always ask me what do you like to read? I read everything – literally. Biographies, True Crime, Fiction, Sports Stories, Fitness and as my wife would attest history – lots and lots of history. The old saying the more you know the more you realize you don’t know is very true. Growing up no matter what weird quirks I had, or some of the odd book choices were ever ridiculed. I would like thank my parents for the hundreds of dollars spent on lost library books too. I was always on the “missing books” list and/or I was late returning them back. (Now it’s my Netflix movies... sorry dear) My parents taught me to always believe in myself and instilled a confidence that I could do or be anything in this life that I wanted. And for that I thank them.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to express thanks to Susan Hughes for continuing to challenge me as a writer and helping me to continually evolve. I would also like to thank a host of people that form my street team Tida Ngin, Charlie Blasberg, Michael Collins, Astrida McFarland, and Larry Boston. Lastly but definitely not the least my beautiful wife Jackie, who has put eyes on the book as much as I have. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart without you, there would be no book just a bunch of random thoughts from a crazy man named Terry.

  P.S. A special thanks goes out to all of my FANS! Thank you for your continued support and your love of David Porter!

  Prologue

  Tom Patton reached up and turned the now cold shower off. He opened the curtain and proudly strode out. He wrapped a towel around his waist and admired himself in the mirror. He used to think that once he hit forty-five years old his body, his boyish looks, would betray him. But they hadn’t. He had just finished lifting weights and loved how his muscles still bulged back at him. God you’re a beautiful man, he thought.

  “Patton, you just gonna stand there and stare at yourself all day? I thought you were supposed to be on patrol thirty minutes ago anyway?” One of the officers called out to him as he walked by, shoving a burrito into his mouth.

  Patton smiled and gave Jorge Rodriguez a playful nudge as he walked passed him toward his locker. “Screw you, Popi Claus! Those goddamn speeding tickets will still get written. Don’t worry your pretty little taco eatin’ self over it. Maybe you should spend some time in the gym with me. Might get you a little more play with the Mrs. Ya think? She can’t be feeling all of that.” Patton trailed his hands up and down along his midsection.

  Rodriguez walked over and pointed in Patton’s face. He could take a playful joke, but he was about sick and tired of Patton’s wisecracks about his race. “Screw you, Patton. Freaking prick.”

  Patton rose from the bench and got back into Rodriguez’s face. “Easy, big boy. Don’t do something your fat ass is going to regret. Besides, if I cut you open, tacos and fajitas are gonna spill out all over the locker room. Chief wouldn’t like that. Christmas is in a few weeks. I’ll get your fat ass a taco kit or something.”

  Both men stood glaring into each other’s eyes, inching closer and closer to each other. A few officers watching the tension escalate came over to separate them. Patton backed up but he still had a wry smile on his face.

  “You guys both chill the heck out,” one of the officers barked, still pushing a more-than-a-little-aggravated Rodriguez back.

  Patton turned his back to Rodriguez. “You’re lucky your friends don’t want to see you get beat up today, Julio Chavez.” He sat back down and pulled out his phone to text his wife. And while he was at it, his girlfriend too.

  “Why you always gotta bring race into it, Patton?” Officer Ross said, slapping him on the back.

  “Screw all of them goddamn bean eating bastards,” Patton replied, still smiling at Rodriguez.

  “Yeah, what makes you so much better, Patton? You’re the most undisciplined officer in our entire department. You’re a cheating, manipulative asshole. Everyone here is tired of your bullshit. You ever get that paternity test? That kid of yours looks a lot more like me. He like tacos? I bet he does,” Rodriguez said.

  Patton just fumed and stared at him. Some of what he said was true—probably most of it. “My wife would never let a fat, sloppy piece of shit like you come close to her. Why don’t you go over to that mirror an
d take a look? Go ahead. What are you waiting on? Please finish that taco first. And the other three in the bag too.” Patton sneered, pointing to a brown paper bag on the bench beside Rodriguez.

  Officer Ross slid next to Patton on the bench and nudged him in the ribs. “Hey, man, why don’t you cool it with the fat and Mexican digs? Just let it go, man.”

  “Chief know how you feel about us beaners, Patton? And shouldn’t you be somewhere shoving a needle in your ass anyway?” Rodriguez yelled across the locker room.

  “Sounds like lard ass is a little jealous. You could have a body like this too, ya know. But first you’ll have to back away from the tacos. And I don’t have a problem with all beaners, as you called them, only your pathetic ass. Your lazy ass going to catch a perp if he takes off running? What, you just gonna throw one of those greasy-ass tacos at him?” Patton laughed. “HPD Officer facing charges after man is injured by tacos. Officer Juan Jose Ricardo Manuel Suarez Rodriguez could face up to five years in prison if he’s convicted. Assault with tacos is up five percent from last year,” Patton said.

  A few officers laughed quietly.

  Rodriguez held up his gun in one hand and Taser in the other. “Never was much of a runner. Don’t really have to be, now do I? I don’t really know anyone who can outrun a bullet. Not even Usain Bolt. And you got one more taco joke, maybe you’ll find out just how well I can use this. Don’t worry, we’ll play some merengue at your funeral.”

  Patton sent a text to his wife.

  About to hit gym, love you.

  And another to his girlfriend.

  Be over to give you summathis good stuff in a bit – be ready!

  “I’d love to see you try,” he said, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “Sure you don’t want to just use knives? I know how ya’ll usually get down.”

  Rodriguez pushed toward Patton again. “You’re a no-good piece of shit, Patton. Typical white privilege fake steroid tough guy aka douche bag. Chief tell you we drug testing next week, meathead? Your little girlfriend still gonna want you when she finds out you’re not a cop anymore? She’s just using your stupid ass to get out of a few tickets.”

  Patton closed his locker and grabbed his duffle bag. “I’m done arguing with you, fat boy. Finish your tacos and text Maria for me. I can probably get over and hook her up with this good stuff around four p.m. Her name is Maria, right? Or is it Carmen? Veronica? I can never remember. I usually don’t let her talk much when I go over. I don’t like it when people talk with their mouth full,” Patton said, winking at Rodriguez.

  Rodriguez lunged at Patton, but a few of the other officers held him too tightly. Besides, Patton was already headed out and almost to the door. He was finished pushing Rodriguez’s buttons for the day. Plus, he had a little midday booty call to get to that was far more important than Rodriguez and his bullshit. Twenty-year-olds were fickle and not very patient. He didn’t want to keep Amber waiting too long.

  “Why do you let him get under your skin like that?” Ross asked.

  Rodriguez buried his hands in his hair. “I don’t know. I freaking hate that guy.” He slammed his fist into a locker.

  “Calm down. Okay, so he’s a prick. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it. His shit will catch up with him one day. You just keep your nose clean.”

  “He talk that shit to the wrong Mexican, they gonna put two in his ass. He catches me on the wrong side of the bed one day, it may be me.”

  Ross looked over and smiled then started laughing.

  “What the hell is so funny?”

  “Nothing.”

  Rodriguez pushed Ross. “No, what, asshole?”

  Ross was still laughing. “Hey don’t start with me. Patton is a dick, but you could eat a taco or two or three less a day. Unless you’re trying to die at forty from a heart attack.”

  Rodriguez looked down at his stomach and both of them shared a laugh.

  ***

  When Patton got to his patrol car, he threw his uniform into the backseat. He’d have to change into it after he left Amber’s. He sat down in the driver’s seat and something caught his eye. Why was his laptop open? He never left it open. He chalked it up to old age, put the car in drive, and headed for his lover’s apartment.

  Watching video surveillance of a man who would be dead in thirty minutes but had no idea he was about to die was eerie. Caleb sat gnawing on his sunflower seeds in their motel room and waited, waited for go-time. Hunger pangs echoed from his stomach, as it was close to lunchtime and he hadn’t eaten anything all day. He couldn’t eat, not right now. Action, danger, excitement—all made him way too jittery to eat. He stared at the computer monitor, one of three that surrounded him. Marci sat ten feet from him, her eyes glued to three additional monitors atop the table in front of her. Every detail of their plan had been perfectly launched into action. Now it was time to watch the actors play out the scene.

  Caleb walked over and stood behind Marci. He just stared at her for a second. He’d learned almost everything he knew from Marci, and he loved her dearly. He bent down, and gave Marci, a deep, wet kiss, sneaking a quick feel in the process.

  Marci smiled and pushed him away. “Hey! Stay focused, you sexy man.”

  The fact that Marci was twenty years his senior didn’t matter to Caleb. He didn’t know if he liked older women per se or just this older woman. He worshipped her. She’d been there from the beginning, and she’d probably taught him as much as his mother.

  Caleb ruffled Marci’s hair, smiled, and listened to her. He walked back over to his chair.

  “Okay. It’s noon straight-up. Go-time!” Caleb exclaimed. He put on his headset and dialed a number from a burner phone. He gave Marci a thumbs-up and winked at her.

  “Hello. Officer Patton speaking.”

  “Officer Patton, good afternoon. My name is . . . well, it doesn’t matter what my name is. I need you to listen very, very closely to every detail. One mistake could be fatal. Okay?”

  “What the hell is this?” Patton said, looking at his caller ID. He didn’t recognize the number. “Jorge that you playing games again?”

  Caleb stood up and paced. “No, sorry, Tom. This is not Jorge. This is your guilt game, and I am your host. I plan on being with you from now until the end.”

  “Jorge, shut the heck up. I know this is you.”

  “No, Tom, you need to shut up and listen. Right now you’re in your squad car heading toward . . . damn! I almost spoiled it. Let’s start with the basics. Your car’s controls have been overridden—well, some of them anyway. Like the locks, for example. You can no longer unlock the doors. Go ahead and give it a shot.”

  Patton hit the lock/unlock switch but nothing happened. He smashed the dash with his fist. “What the hell is happening? Who the heck are you?”

  “Mr. Patton, you need to calm down. You need to be mentally engaged in this game, or you will miss something. So let’s go over the rules. You are not allowed to contact anyone. Anyone includes . . . well, anyone. Your cell phone has been programmed so it will only communicate with me. But not contacting anyone also includes pulling over and trying to wave someone over to your car. You see that computer in front of you? It’s transmitting directly to a monitor, and guess who is watching? Yup. Me.”

  “What the hell do you want from me, you little piece of shit? Do you know who you’re messing with?”

  “Ohhh snap! I almost forgot. The video is being broadcast to your seventy-two-inch flat screen at home. Your wife Julie—say hi, Julie—can see and hear you too. And your three-year-old, Matthew. So I’d watch the potty mouth. And pardon the crunching. Sunflower seeds.”

  Patton was struck with fear. “Julie, I’m so sorry you’ve been drug into . . . whatever this is. You are going to pay for this, pal.”

  “Patton, listen to me. She can hear you, but right now her mic is off so you can’t hear her. We’ll get to that later. So here’s what’s going to happen. You’ve been a cop now for what, twenty-one, twenty-two years? We’ve
been reading and studying and learning all about you for about a week now. And you’ve done some pretty naughty things, haven’t you?”

  Patton didn’t respond. He was trying to figure a way out of this.

  “Okay, well, that didn’t go so good Mr. Patton. Let me explain something. When I ask a question, it becomes your job to answer. I did leave one small detail out. Your wife and son can’t move. You see they are what you call tied up at the moment.”

  “I swear, you better not hurt them!”

  “Ohhh stop it, Tom. We aren’t going to hurt them. Well, maybe we are. You’ll be glad to know this is your game, and you actually get to decide if they get hurt or not. You see I’m going to stop talking and give you the floor. I know where you were actually headed right now, but I’m not going to spoil the show. So here’s what I need from you. You are going to tell your lovely wife all of your little dirty secrets. All of them—or the room they are in will fill with a special something and they will both die. Right now it’s 12:10. The canister in your home is set to go off at 12:30 . . . unless someone turns it off. Again, can you guess who that someone is, Tommy? Yup. Me again.”

  Tom took a U-turn and headed toward his house. He was speeding and darting in and out of traffic. “So all I have to do is tell her the bad things I’ve done and all of us live? That’s the game? What kind of sick shit is this?”

  “Mr. Patton, did you forget who else was listening in? You have such a potty mouth. Can you clean it up a little? I mean, I did ask nicely. Yes, you tell the truth and they live. Only you die at 12:30. Oh, I didn’t mention that, did I? You see, someone has to atone for your sins, but you get to decide who. Isn’t this fun? And Julie has already been warned that if she makes it out of this, if we even suspect an ounce of evidence has been given to the cops we will be back to . . . how can I put this . . . finish them off.”

  “They are going to catch you, and when I find out who you are—”

  “Now now, Tom. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’re angry. I get it. And you’re used to always being in control. But you are all out of options, bud. The GPS shows you aren’t going for your noon nookie, Tom. Why did you turn around? You headed home now? Don’t answer that yet. So here’s what’s going to happen. In ten seconds, Julie’s mic will be turned on. I want you to tell her everything. Do you hear me, Tom? Everything. The truth shall set you free. Time’s a-tickin’. C4, remote detonator, timer—all wired to your car. And . . . go!”