Behind the Closed Door: A Detective Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers (The Jacob Hayden Series Book 2)

by Charles Prandy

  Six months ago, after I came home from the hospital, I received a wacky letter from some nutcase claiming that I’m going to participate in a game called Life or Death. In his crazy world, the only way to win the game was to kill him before he kills me. The letter didn’t have a return address or even a stamp for that matter. So that meant whoever delivered the letter came to my house and put the letter in with the rest of my mail. I took the letter to the station and had it dusted for fingerprints, but there weren’t any. There wasn’t any trace evidence of saliva to compare for DNA. Ever since then, I put myself on heightened alert in case the nutcase decided to come back. Could this be him?

  I heard footsteps climbing the stairs from the basement. The footsteps were slow and light. I steadied my aim at the basement door. Then it dawned on me. I looked over at Henry and he was fast asleep. Now, Henry’s not the most aggressive dog in the world, but he wouldn’t just lie around if there was a stranger in the house. I pulled back my aim and took a deep breath. No one broke in.

  The basement door opened and my mother-in-law, Mama J, stood in the lit hallway.

  “Jacob? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I sat on the edge of the couch and took another deep breath.

  “You need to put a sign out front letting me know you’re here. You nearly got shot.”

  Mama J moved to turn on the lights.

  “How long have I been coming here?” she asked as she gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Every Thursday I come and clean the house and make food for you.”

  I hugged her back. I loved this woman as if she were my own mother. My mother unfortunately died from cancer when I was in college, and then my father shortly after that from what I believed was a broken heart. Theresa’s parents treated me as if I were their own child. They helped me when I was being framed for Theresa’s murder. It was a hard time for them. A hard time for us.

  “Sorry, I forgot which day it was. Tired I guess.”

  “That’s okay. Can I make you something to eat?”

  “No, it’s three in the morning. You should be asleep.”

  “I heard you come in. Figured you might be hungry.”

  “I’m more sleepy than hungry. Is Pops here too?”

  “No, just me. He’ll be here in the morning to pick me up.”

  “Your idea of morning is in about three hours,” I said, smiling.

  “Don’t worry, we won’t wake you up.”

  Mama J headed to the kitchen and turned on the light. In doing so, she passed a framed picture of Theresa and I hanging on the wall. The picture was taken in the fall about five years ago. We were hanging out at Rock Creek Park towards the end of October. The air was crisp, but not yet too cold for a walk. The sky was clear with thin patches of cloud scattered about. Theresa was wearing a red and blue scarf wrapped around her neck. I had on a black sweater. Theresa jumped on my back, pulled out her camera and stuck it in front of us. The picture captured our innocence and our love.

  “You two were so happy then,” Mama J said, looking at the picture.

  Six months isn’t long enough for a parent to get over losing a child. I understood that. Before Theresa’s death, Mama J and Pops, my father-in-law, used to come over periodically to clean and cook for us. I turned the basement into another master suite for them so they didn’t have to worry about staying in the upstairs guest room. Since Theresa was an ER doctor and me a cop, we weren’t home much. Her mother insisted we have home cooked meals prepared for us. I didn’t object because I loved her cooking, and I knew it was a way for them to spend time with Theresa.

  Even though Theresa isn’t with us anymore, Mama J still insists on coming over. I don’t mind. She reminds me of Theresa and I remind her of Theresa as well.

  I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

  “I really miss her,” I said.

  She tapped my hand and softly laid her head against my chest. “Me too.”

  We stood there for a moment in silence. Just reflected. I kissed the top of her head again and told her I was heading to bed.

  “I’ll make sure I’m quiet when I leave,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to be dead to the world in about five minutes.”

  I was wrong. It only took two minutes.

  Nine

  Two Days Later

  Eighteen-year-old Lucas Young was feeling good about himself. It’d been over a month since he graduated from high school. He had the whole summer to lie around and do nothing until college started in the fall. He could wake up at noon if he wanted. Play video games until his fingers fell off. Eat cheeseburgers and Cheetos all day. Gain a few pounds. He didn’t care because he was about to get lucky for the first time.

  Camille Gunther, a fellow graduating senior, finally agreed to go out with him. And when Camille Gunther agrees to go out with you, she really goes out with you.

  Lucas didn’t want to act too excited, but this was a dream come true. He was the only one of his friends who was a virgin. When they’d get together to tell their sexual stories, Lucas had to pretend like he knew what they were talking about. Like when his friend Josh said that he came so hard it nearly burst through the condom, Lucas slapped five and laughed and acted as if he knew the feeling.

  He wore his best black T-shirt that outlined his toned physique. He was well-groomed and smelled of cologne. His dad let him borrow the Lexus. He was going to show and impress.

  He pulled up to Camille’s house and texted, “I’m outside.” A few minutes later, she came out of the house dressed in fitting blue jeans and a pink T-shirt. Camille looked like the stereotypical cheerleader; tall and fit with nice curves. Lucas started getting hard. His hormones were flying through the roof. He tapped his wallet in his right front pocket where two condoms were stashed. His friends would always say how hard it was to put on a condom. Sometimes they tore. Sometimes they weren’t big enough. But the main thing they stressed was pulling at the tip to leave a little room.

  Camille got in the car smelling like soap and perfume. Lucas inhaled.

  “Hey Lucas.”

  “Hey you.”

  “So where are we going?”

  “I thought we might park for a while.”

  Camille looked around the car. “I don’t know if there’s enough room in here.”

  “I know. I was thinking the same thing. I’ve got some blankets in the back. We can sit out in the grass.”

  She smiled. “Okay. I like the sound of that.”

  Lucas fired up the Lexus and drove to Rock Creek Park. It was close to nine-thirty at night and the parking lot he found was deserted.

  “What do you think?” Lucas asked.

  “It’s awfully dark.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got a flash light. And besides, nobody comes back here anyways.”

  “I know,” Camille said, “I’ve been here a few times.”

  Lucas got excited again.

  Two minutes later, they were out of the Lexus and walking along a paved path through the woods with a beam of light guiding their way.

  “So what made you finally say yes?” Lucas asked.

  “You’re cute. All the girls think so.”

  “Really?” Lucas said with a little bit of excitement in his voice.

  “But you scream virgin from a mile away?”

  “Really?” with less excitement.

  “Virgins scare girls off. We don’t like to wait around while you figure it out.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not a virgin.”

  Camille laughed. “Yes you are. But don’t worry, you won’t be for much longer.”

  She wrapped her arm around his waist while they walked along the path. Lucas let the flashlight bounce off various trees, branches and leaves.

  “Let’s go in here,” Camille said, pointing to the woods. “There’s a clearing not far where we can make camp.”

  They turned into the woods, carefully walking over tree s
tubbles and other things that were on the ground. Lucas walked first while holding Camille’s hand as the beam of light guided their steps. As they walked, Lucas noticed a stench in the air that he’d never smelled before.

  “God, what’s that smell?” he asked.

  “Smells like somebody died?”

  “How do you know what a dead body smells like?”

  “I don’t know. Just guessing. That’s what they always say in the movies.”

  They continued walking. The light from the flashlight touched various objects on the ground, including a wallet.

  “Look at this,” Lucas said.

  He picked up the wallet and opened it. There was a driver’s license, two credit cards and forty-five dollars in cash.

  “Take the cash,” Camille said.

  “What if whoever lost it needs it?”

  “It’s only forty-five dollars. You can buy me dinner afterwards.”

  Lucas took the cash and stuck it in his pocket. He flashed the light around the general area until it touched upon what looked like a shirt.

  “Check that out,” he said as he pointed to his right.

  “Looks like someone’s shirt,” Camille said.

  “Maybe being out here isn’t such a good idea. First we find a wallet and now a shirt. I don’t like this.”

  “Whose wallet is it?”

  Lucas opened the wallet and pulled out the driver’s license.

  “Jack Smith.”

  They walked towards the shirt. Lucas flashed the light on it. It was a dark long-sleeved button-up shirt. Lucas bent down and picked it up. The shirt had two long tears down the back.

  “I think you’re right. Maybe we should go someplace else,” Camille said.

  Lucas did a slow three-sixty turn and flashed the light around them. Then something made him stop in his tracks.

  “We need to get the hell out of here,” he said.

  Camille saw what he saw and screamed at the top of her lungs.

  Lucas dropped the wallet and both he and Camille ran like their lives depended on it.

  Ten

  My phone rang at 11:06 p.m. precisely. I was actually looking at the clock on my phone when the five turned to a six. Then it rang. I stayed late at the station to catch up on paperwork. I should have gone home a few hours ago, but I didn’t feel like being alone in the house. So I stayed. Henry was probably waiting for me, but I gave him enough food to last a little while longer.

  “Detective Hayden,” I said into the receiver.

  Dispatch was on the line. They told me that an officer responded to a call about a body at Rock Creek Park. A wallet and driver’s license were at the scene.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “A Jack Smith,” the female voice on the other line said.

  I sat back in my chair and rubbed my hand over my head. I met with Erin Smith again yesterday to ask her a few more questions. I told her that we hadn’t received any new information on the case. She was distraught. By that time, Jack Smith had been missing for three days. No one had seen or heard from him. It was like he fell off the face of the earth. Now I know why.

  I called Pat and told her to meet me at Rock Creek Park. I was there in twenty minutes. I saw two squad cars with their lights flashing as I pulled into the parking lot. Pat arrived about a minute after me.

  “I think this is our guy,” I said to Pat.

  “Jack Smith?”

  “Could be. His I.D. was found not far from the body.”

  Three uniformed officers were standing next to their cars.

  “What do we have?” I asked.

  “A body about a hundred yards into the woods. Looks like it could be a white male,” one of the officers responded.

  “Who found the body?” Pat asked.

  “Two teenagers.”

  “Dispatch said that a wallet was found?” I said.

  “That’s right. About twenty feet from the body. Could be the deceased, but it’s hard to tell.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  The three officers looked at each other and one of them said, “Because the head is gone.”

  Eleven

  We waited until the crime scene technicians set up their perimeter. They set up big lights so we could see the surrounding area. They taped off the area around the body at a circumference of about fifty feet. They examined the body and searched the ground. They took photographs. The woods were full of tree debris, leaves and critters. They packaged some things up in plastic bags. When they were done, they told us we could enter the crime scene.

  There was a decapitated body lying against a large tree, almost as if the body decided to casually sit down and take a rest. The head was gone. There were sever marks on the neck, but it looked as if the strike was a clean sweep. The smell was unholy. There was no shirt or pants on the body. It was wearing a pair of blue underwear. There were two holes near the center of the chest. Not too big, but not too small. I’ve see these kinds of holes before. They’re left from handgun bullets. The skin was discolored and I saw a lot of red marks along the body. Probably from bugs and ants nibbling away at the flesh. There wasn’t any blood splatter along the tree, so it’s likely the person wasn’t killed here. There was something else surprising: the fingers had been severed as well. Whoever did this didn’t want us to I.D. the body right away.

  “How long do you think he’s been out here?” Pat asked.

  “A few days at least. But something doesn’t look right. Looks like he’s been dead a lot longer than a few days.” I bent down and pointed at various spots along the body. “Look at the skin. It looks flaky and parts of it is blistered.”

  “So that means the body’s been decomposing for at least a week.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Which doesn’t match our time frame.”

  I looked round the grounds. Yellow tabs were placed where objects were found. I called to one of the crime scene guys who bagged the wallet and clothes.

  “Where was the wallet?” I asked.

  The crime scene guy pointed to one of the yellow tabs about twenty feet away. “It was right there.”

  “Can I see it?”

  He handed me the clear bag that held the wallet. I was wearing gloves, so I took out the wallet and opened it. I looked at the driver’s license and saw Jack Smith’s face. From his arrest report, I knew that Jack Smith was six-three. And as I expected, his driver’s license said that he weighed two hundred and twenty-six pounds.

  I looked back at the body. It looked to be about the right length for some who’s six-three. Same with the weight, although the body looked a little leaner.

  I put the wallet back in the bag and gave it to the crime scene technician. Pat and I walked to our cars.

  “The coroner will be able to give us an estimated time of death, but that body looks like it’s been dead longer than three days,” I said.

  “So maybe it’s not Jack Smith. Maybe he got a hold of Jack’s wallet.”

  I leaned against the trunk of my car and thought through possible scenarios. Scenario one: that was Jack Smith’s body. Whoever killed him wanted us to know who he was even though he’d been decapitated and his fingers cut off. Maybe the killer had some wild fascination with heads and fingers. Scenario two: that’s not Jack Smith and the dead guy just happened to have Jack’s wallet. How’d he get the wallet if he wasn’t Jack Smith? Scenario three: if Jack Smith is dead, maybe he was killed by two people, and the third person killed the second person to cover his tracks.

  I closed my eyes and visualized the crime scene again. The body was against the tree. It hadn’t fallen from the tree, someone carefully placed it there. By doing so, the person took care in making sure the body was comfortable and not just sprawled out on the ground. Suggesting that the killer knew the victim. The killer wanted the victim’s body to be comfortable until it was found. So the wallet was tossed to the ground and not a last minute ditch. It was purposefully put there to be found. So why take the head and
fingers?

  “What are you thinking?” Pat asked.

  “I think that’s Jack Smith.”

  “How? The body’s been decomposing for longer than three days. We know that Jack Smith was in Virginia Beach at a conference three days ago.”

  “I don’t know yet. I’m a little perplexed, but I think that’s Jack Smith back there.”

  “If it is Jack Smith, that means he wasn’t at the conference even though people verified he was.”

  I looked at Pat. Bingo.

  Twelve

  We arrived in front of Erin Smith’s house. It was a little past one in the morning. The lights were off. The neighborhood was quiet. People were getting their rest for another busy workday. We pulled into the driveway the same as last time. I didn’t anticipate that she’d be at the front door, but I wondered how her mental state was. It’d been two days since I last saw Erin Smith. She was a wreck. Anyone would be in her situation.

  I rang the doorbell and a loud ding dong could be heard through the quiet house. A minute later, the deadbolt lock turned and then the lock to the doorknob. The door opened and Erin Smith stood before us. She was wearing a blue robe. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail again. She looked like she hadn’t slept for three days. Her eyes were red and shadowed by dark semicircle rings. Her skin looked pale.

  She stared at us like she was in a trance.

  “Mrs. Smith?” I said.

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she said.

  “May we come in?”

  She stepped back. This time she didn’t pass out. She led us to the same couch that I laid her on when she was unconscious just a couple of days ago. We sat down. The room was quiet. She continued staring at us like she was zoned out.