Fallen Angel: An absolutely addictive crime thriller with a nail-biting twist (Detectives Kane and Alton Book 13)

by D. K. Hood

  Jed trudged through the snow. The cold had reached his bones. He should have worn his thermals, but inside the ski resort it was as warm as toast. He moved inside the chalet and looked around. “See anything?”

  His companion was peering at the framework for a closet and turned back with a smile. “Hey, look at this. What does this remind you of?” Hoisting a nail gun in the air, his friend walked toward him.

  Alarmed, Jed took a few steps away, but his back ended up against the bathroom door. “Put that down. It’s dangerous.”

  “Not unless the compressor is turned on.” His friend grinned widely and walked to the machine and pressed the switch. The compressor hummed into action. “Oops, now I’m armed and dangerous.” The jerk aimed the nail gun at the wall and pressed the button. A nail flew out in a thunk and buried deep into the drywall. “Oh, that’s got quite a kick.”

  Raising his voice above the machinery noise, Jed held up his hands. “Turn it off. We’ll get into all kinds of trouble if they find out you’ve damaged the wall!”

  “They don’t know we’re here, Jed.” His friend moved closer. “I said, ‘What does this remind you of?’”

  Alarmed by the strange look on his companion’s face, Jed lifted his hands in the air and dropped them back to his sides. “Okay, it’s the murder weapon I used in Nailed It. So what?”

  “You didn’t research it very well, did you?” His friend shrugged. “You completely forgot to mention the compressor or how loud it is. It was a great choice of a weapon though. I’ve been thinking about a better use for it for some time.”

  Not liking the way his friend looked at him, a chill ran down Jed’s spine. It was as if his friend’s personality had changed in a split second. “Well, you can’t just copy my killer’s MO. Find something original and you might get someone to publish you.”

  “I figure, nobody owns a method of murdering someone. Let’s face it, just how many ways are there to kill someone? But I digress. Let’s get back to you. Did you consider how much pain your victim went through, when his killer shot nails into him? Did you feel his pain as you wrote the story, because to me, your depiction of the victim was weak. He was an easy kill. He refused to fight back even with words.” His friend rolled his eyes. “You know, I do believe you modeled the victim in your novel on yourself.” His companion snorted with laughter. “Here I am, brandishing a weapon at you and you should be afraid of me, but you’re just standing there waiting for something to happen.”

  An uneasy feeling crept over Jed and he shook his head. “What do you want me to do? I’m not frightened of you. You’re hardly a threat to me, are you?” He looked around and noticed a hammer on one of the benches, grabbed it, and waved it. “There does that make you happy?”

  “Deliriously.” His friend aimed the nail gun at the wall beside Jed and squeezed the trigger. The noise was frightening, almost like a real pistol. “But if you’re going to pick up a hammer, at least use it. Make it interesting. Thrill me, Jed. Can you at least try?”

  Jumping away, as another bolt from the nail gun came way too close, Jed felt his gut tighten at the amused expression on his friend’s face. “Stop acting like a jerk or I’m going back to the lodge.”

  “Oh, I’m not acting.” His friend’s expression had changed from amused to deranged. “I just wanted to know how it felt to kill someone with a nail gun. You didn’t give your killer a voice in your story, so no one will ever know what it was like, but you will.”

  As nails shot from the gun, horrified, Jed turned to run, but it was as if his legs refused to move. The hammer fell from his grasp and clattered to the floor. He had to get away, call for help, something. Gasping for air, he held his bleeding chest. “You’re crazy. You’ll kill someone with that thing.”

  “Isn’t that the idea?” His friend’s lips twisted into a strange grin. “You wrote this scene and now I’m allowing you to experience how the victim felt. You should thank me.” The compressor hummed and hissed as the nail gun fired.

  Writhing in a world of pain as metal pierced his flesh, Jed staggered and held on to a doorframe. This couldn’t be happening. Surely his friend didn’t intend to kill him. He stared into dark menacing eyes, uncomprehending. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because you’re not as good as you think you are, Jed.” His friend raised both eyebrows. “You have to experience pain to write about it. Shame it’s too late for you now. We both know how this story is going to end, don’t we?”

  Dizzy, white spots danced in front of Jed’s vision, his fingers slipped on the doorframe and the sawdust-covered floor came up fast. The nails dug deep into his neck, and he cried out in agony. A metallic taste coated his tongue and each labored gasp sprayed the wooden floor with crimson droplets. As he dragged his heavy aching body toward the door, his hands slipped in the warm blood pooling around him. Footsteps, slow and deliberate came close behind him and he turned to look into the black eyes of a killer. In one last effort to stop this madness, he lifted his head, but his voice was less than a whisper. “Help me, somebody, help me!”

  “What a fool you are.” The tip of the nail gun pressed against the base of Jed’s skull. “Not a soul knows we’re here.”

  Twelve

  Watching the guests milling around, Jenna glanced down at her iPad at the images from a list of driver’s licenses belonging to their suspects and tried to pick them out in the crowd. It was noisy as the conference guests moved from one session to another, everyone chatting and exchanging notes. Excitement hovered in the air and every person she looked at smiled at her as if they were on a secret mission and she’d become part of their team. The requests for people to come to reception repeated and when a cold blast came from the front door and two men walked inside shaking snow from their coats, she recognized them as Murphy Finnian, a literary agent, and Ike Turnage, an acquiring editor. She walked toward them. “I’d like to talk to both of you. Are you busy right now?”

  “No, our next session starts at three.” Finnian removed his heavy coat. “Is there a problem?”

  “This will be about Miss Storm.” Turnage pulled off his gloves and stuffed them into the pockets of his ski jacket. He looked at Jenna. “Lead the way.”

  “It’s all over the conference that the organizers are running a murder mystery competition.” Finnian raised an eyebrow as they rode up in the elevator. “It’s news to us if they have.”

  Jenna rested one hand on the butt of her Glock and met his gaze. “I have no idea. I’m not involved in the conference.”

  “So why do you want to speak to us?” Turnage unzipped his jacket and took his time removing it.

  “I want to know people’s whereabouts last night, so we’ll be interviewing guests all day.” Jenna led the way into the suite and sent Finnian to a desk where Kane sat and sent Turnage to the space she’d chosen for herself. She turned as Kane stood and beckoned her and she followed him across the room out of earshot. “These two just came in together. So, find out what they were doing out in a blizzard.”

  “Copy.” Kane glanced over at the two men and then moved his attention back to her. “I’ve spoken with Agnes. She repeated what we already knew. She spotted something in the pond. It was icing over. She didn’t notice anything out of place at all. No footprints. Zip. I’ve spoken to Sparks, the guy who keeps the pathways clear. He said the only thing he noticed was one of the logs had fallen out of the bin beside the door to Dakota Storm’s chalet. He put it back on the pile.” He smiled. “I’d bet that’s the wood the killer used to incapacitate Dakota Storm. We’ll have to go back and check it out. Sparks mentioned he clears the paths regularly, so we’ll be good to go when you’re finished here.”

  Jenna nodded. “Okay. We’ll head out as soon as we’ve spoken to these two. I’m not planning on waiting and searching in the dark.”

  “I’ll grab our bags from the truck on the way back.” Kane indicated with his chin toward the two men waiting patiently. “I hadn’t realized what a cutthroat
business publishing was. I had the idea it was kinda peaceful. You know, people living in their own worlds writing stories.”

  “Oh, that part is.” Jenna smiled at him. “All the authors say that part is pure magic, but after the writing comes the hard work of getting the story to market. I’m just glad they share their stories. I sure do love a good book.”

  “Me too.” Kane headed back to his desk.

  Jenna sat down and opened her notebook. She looked at Turnage. “As you know, we asked everyone a few questions as they entered the halls earlier. We’re just following up on those people who are staying alone or had no witnesses to prove their whereabouts.”

  “Okay.” Turnage gave her a confident smile, his overuse of cologne almost stifling, but better than the smell of damp clothes and sweat that seemed to hang around everyone. “I’m not in the habit of sharing accommodation when I’m away at these conferences. It can lead to misconceptions. Plus, I’d probably end up nursing someone who’d had too much to drink and was spending the entire night hanging over the toilet.” He leaned back in his chair. “Trust me, I’d rather be alone. As I told that officer,” he indicated to Wolfe, speaking to a woman at his desk, “I left the lodge after dinner and went to my chalet. I made some calls on the landline, drank a few glasses of wine, and went to bed around ten. I didn’t venture out until after breakfast.”

  “Okay.” Jenna made notes to check the time of the calls made from Turnage’s room. “So, what made you venture out into a blizzard just before?”

  “Oh, I made a huge purchase of books and had them signed by some of my favorite authors. I have a busy afternoon with interviews and I didn’t want to carry them around all day.” Turnage’s mouth turned up at the corners. “I took a chance and gave the authors my card. Any one of them would be a huge acquisition for my publisher. I admit to schmoozing as many authors as possible over lunch, and after, I took the books back to my cabin. I’m out in number thirty-eight. They did say they were clearing the pathways at lunchtime in case anyone wanted to return to their chalets and the man on his machine had just finished when I dashed back to my room.”

  Jenna observed him. His overconfidence gave her concern. She’d seen too many killers, who’d convinced themselves they’d gotten away with a crime act in a similar manner. After making a note to check the CCTV footage to determine when he left the lodge, she lifted her gaze back to him. “And you met Mr. Finnian where exactly? I noticed you came in together just before.”

  “He was coming from the parking lot and stopped to speak to me.” Turnage let out a long sigh. “He found an author with the next best thing and wanted to discuss it with me. That’s what agent’s do, Sheriff. They find suitable authors and send their work to me. We don’t want a one-book wonder. We want an author who can produce a string of bestsellers. It’s all about sales.”

  “Interesting.” Jenna made a few more notes. “Thank you for your time. I think that will be all for now.”

  “I can go?” Turnage gave her a rueful smile. “No handcuffs?” He stood and chuckled. “Now wouldn’t that have been a story to tell around the water cooler back at the office?”

  Jenna closed her notebook and got to her feet. “Maybe next time.”

  She walked him back to the elevator and waited for it to arrive before turning back in time to see Kane waving Finnian toward the door. As Finnian walked past her, she cleared her throat. “Mr. Finnian, where did you meet Mr. Turnage before you both came back to the lodge just before?”

  “I ran into him on the pathway, as I was coming out of the parking lot.” Finnian’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “I had to go back to my SUV to look for a flash drive I’d mislaid.”

  Jenna smiled at him. “Okay, thanks for your time.” She headed back into the suite and walked to Kane. “Find out anything interesting apart from them meeting outside just before?”

  “No, not really.” Kane scratched his cheek. “Finnian is a little on edge. He is the nervous type. He said, he goes to his room in the lodge after dinner at all the conferences or else he is constantly pursued by annoying authors looking for an agent. He said he spent his time reading the submissions he’d requested earlier in the day. He mentioned that the internet is great here, only the wireless phone service is intermittent. The landlines are working just fine.”

  Jenna smiled. “Good to know.” She sighed. “It looks like everyone has things in hand for now. Grab your coat and we’ll go and look at the woodpile outside Dakota’s chalet.”

  They headed for the elevator, and as the doors slid open, a man stepped out and looked at them. Jenna vaguely recognized him as one of their suspects. “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” The man straightened and his gaze flitted to Kane and back to her. “My name was called out and I went to the receptionist. She said to hang around and someone would be down soon. I waited for a bit, then decided to come on up.” He gave her a slow almost intimate smile. “Did I win a door prize or something?”

  “Ah no.” Jenna narrowed her gaze. “What name was it?”

  “Bexley Grayson.”

  Jenna checked her list. “Thank you. If you’d like to take a seat, someone will be with you in a moment.” She noticed Rio had nobody waiting and he’d be free after interviewing the woman at his desk and pointed to him. “You won’t have to wait too long. Deputy Rio will be finished soon.”

  As Grayson walked away, Kane moved to her side. She caught his stony expression. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing, but everyone who walked in here has wet boots… or damp boots.” Kane indicated to Grayson. “Him too.”

  “Yours are damp too. So are mine.” She pressed the elevator button. “It’s a fact of life up here. Not everyone has a ton of dry boots with them.”

  “It’s a must-have in the snow.” Kane shrugged. “Most people would have more than one pair of outside boots and inside shoes or whatever with them. Wet boots mean frostbite.” He followed her into the elevator. “The two guys coming in from outside have an excuse but not the others. It seems strange is all. I told the team to include it in the questioning. It might be relevant.”

  When the doors closed, Jenna leaned into him. “Good to know, but everyone is here to enjoy the snow. Their boots could be damp from before we locked them down. One thing’s for sure, I’m changing my boots the moment I get back and setting them in front of the fire.” She squeezed his arm. “You should too.”

  “I sure will. I’ve packed everything we’ll need for at least a week, and they do laundry here if necessary.” Kane smiled down at her and one hand snaked around her waist. “Our ski gear is in the truck, so we won’t get wet after today. I packed indoor and outdoor boots, our spare sheriff’s department coats, and four pairs of gloves each. If I’ve forgotten anything, I’ll buy it at the store in the foyer.” He chuckled. “Don’t look so worried. I do have some idea of what you need for a trip. I even packed your toiletries.”

  Jenna burst out laughing. “Well, that’s good to know. I was visualizing sleeping in one of your T-shirts.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.” Kane dropped his arm as the doors slipped open. “Darn it, the press is supposed to be following the convention, not us. What are they doing in the foyer? They’ve gathered quite a crowd of onlookers. That’s all we need.”

  As the reporters moved forward, microphones in hand, men with cameras followed close behind. Jenna composed her expression and met them head on. She recognized Deni Crawford, a reporter from Blackwater News who could sensationalize a snail race, and avoided her prodding microphone.

  “Sheriff Alton, why have you locked down the resort?” Crawford moved closer. “Does it have anything to do with Dakota Storm going missing?”

  Jenna waved a hand toward the tall glass windows being pelted with swirling snow. “The slopes have been closed and all nonessential travel postponed until the blizzard passes. The weather forecast suggests this may take some time. I can assure you Mayor Petersham is working hard trying t
o keep essential roads clear. As everyone here has come for the convention, I suggest you all stop worrying about the weather and enjoy your stay. I’d strongly suggest, if you do plan to venture outside, then go as a group or in twos. It will be safer. The phones are unreliable at the moment, and if you’re alone and take a fall, you won’t last long out there.”

  “I noticed the medical examiner’s van here earlier.” Crawford waved the microphone in front of Jenna’s nose. “Why was he here?”

  Jenna smiled at her. “Dr. Shane Wolfe is in the building, yes. He is here with his daughters enjoying the convention. It is a crime convention after all.” She looked at the gathered crowd. “The van will be back again this afternoon to collect him, or maybe his medical examiner’s truck. He doesn’t spend all his waking hours on the job.”

  “And is Dakota Storm missing or is the rumor just part of an official mystery game?” Crawford narrowed her eyes. “Was the ME’s van parked outside as a red herring? Are you involved in the game, Sheriff?”

  “I’ve no comment on anything to do with the running of the convention.” Jenna stared at Crawford. “The people of Black Rock Falls don’t pay me to play games. Now if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to collect my bags from the truck. Just like everyone else, we’re here for the duration of the blizzard.” She pushed her way past the reporters and headed out the door.

  “Deputy Kane.” Crawford ran after them with her entourage close behind. “Is the earring a member of the staff found on a pathway one of the clues in the game? No one has claimed it yet.”

  “No comment.” Kane waved her away.

  Jenna walked beside him through the first set of doors. “How the hell are we going to complete an investigation with her watching our every move? If we tell the guests there’s a killer running loose at the resort, they’ll all panic and try to leave.”