Derek took a long breath in. Held it for a second or two.
“What was on the DVD?”
“Just Jessica Gracers walking up the walkway, then entering her house. She looks straight up at the camera, smiles and pulls out a copy of that Lee Child book. She smiles again, tucks the book into her purse then pulls out her gun. There’s no sound on the recording, but you can see her calling Sam’s name. She was staring right at the camera and made a point to make sure anyone seeing the video could easily read her lips. About fifteen minutes later, the recording ends.”
“She pulled the plug after downloading the video. Probably deleted the memory after she burned the disc.”
“She killed her husband and left this damn DVD to let you and everyone else know she got away with murder.”
“Not sure if I’m impressed with how she pulled this off or scared to know she’s still out there.” Derek paused a beat. “I’ll tell you one thing, FJ DeNuzzio had better up his personal security details.”
“Think she’d go after FJ?” Rachel questioned. “Seems like it would be too much of a risk. She’s got all the money she could ever possibly need and, for the most part, is off the grid. Going back to the Tampa area would be a tremendous risk.”
“And in her mind, it may be a risk worth taking.”
There was a brief moment of silence before Rachel continued.
“Still pretty damn confused, but maybe Brian Hilton and FJ weren’t involved in killing Sam Gracers after all.”
“Seems that way to me,” Derek replied. “Seems to me Jessica Gracers covered all her bases, including the whole ‘note passing’ thing. By the way, was that note we found in the community library ever tested by your handwriting experts to see if it was Hilton’s handwriting?”
“It was tested, but, you’re not going to like the results,” Rachel said.
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“Inconclusive. Either it was Hilton or it was someone talented in forging his style. They use a grading system with eighteen points being a definite match. Any score below ten is a ‘highly probable forgery’ and a score of fifteen and above is considered to be ‘highly probable authentic.’ The experts tested that note as an eighteen to match Jessica Gracers’ handwriting and a fourteen point six on Hilton’s.”
“Unbelievable.”
“I guess the only way we’ll ever know for sure if Hilton was involved with Jessica is to ask her ourselves.”
It was two days more of driving before Derek received another call from Rachel.
“Where are you now?” she asked. “Alaska? Hawaii? France?”
“Ohio. About fifty miles from home.”
“That’s good, Derek,” she said through a sigh. “You need to be home for a while.”
“You about to tell me something that’s going to make me want to drive back down to Florida?”
“Not exactly, though the invitation is a standing one. Just wanted to tell you Don Reagan was killed early this morning. He took a shot at FJ DeNuzzio with a high-powered rifle while FJ was out for his morning walk. Shot missed completely. One of FJ’s bodyguards found Reagan’s hiding spot and shot him four times. Killed him instantly.” Rachel paused, waiting for Derek to reply.
He said nothing.
“Well,” she said, “unless someone else has any information linking FJ to crimes, looks like he’s going to walk away a free man. So much for justice huh?”
Still, Derek said nothing.
“I suppose whatever information Jessica had sent to Reagan could have been sent to other sources. Could be FJ wronged a whole bunch of people and one of them may be seeking revenge as we speak. Hell, I was even wondering if Maryanne Jenkins would tell her story to the authorities, but, it doesn’t look that that’s going to happen.”
“Why not?” Derek finally said.
“I guess I shouldn’t say she won’t do anything to bring FJ to justice,” Rachel said so quickly her words seemed to blend together, forming one, long word. “It’s just that she has her own set of legal issues to deal with. From what I’ve heard, she’s assuming full responsibility for her actions, which is good, I suppose. Shows me she has character. Integrity. But, again from what I’ve heard, she’s not mentioning anyone else beside Brian Hilton as being involved in what she did.”
“Wouldn’t think drawing up paperwork for the sale of a business would be illegal?” Derek stated. “Despite the motivation behind the sale. It’s not like she was the one convincing the doctors to get involved in duping those business owners into believing they were dying of cancer.”
“No,” Rachel answered, “but the DA had enough evidence to prove Maryanne knew the business owners were selling under false pretenses. That may not put her behind bars but she’ll certainly lose her license. Not that it matters, I suppose. I hear she’s quite ill.”
“Julia Steinberg,” Derek said after a long period of silence. “She’s running for the open Congressional district seat?”
“Sure is. Based on what I’ve read in the papers, she’s practically got the election in the bag. A day after her opponent was announced, a huge news story broke linking Steinberg’s opponent to a child pornography ring. He’s denying it of course, but damage done.”
“She’ll win, despite Jessica Gracers making her look bad.”
Rachel searched her imagination for something else to talk about. Something that would lead to more conversation, which might open up the door to the two of them making plans to get together some time soon. When she heard Derek clear his throat, she knew the conversation was about to end.
“Listen, Derek,” she shot out, “I know you just went through hell with everything that happened with Nikkie, but…”
“The U-P,” Derek interrupted. “That’s where Jessica went to. Maybe still there. It’s beautiful up there this time of year.”
“Not following you,” Rachel said, her voice sounding resigned.
“First time I met her, in the jail, when we were talking about bail. She said she shouldn’t be seen as a flight risk. Made a joke about her running away to Canada via Neebish Island. I never heard of Neebish Island before, so I didn’t think anything of it. The name just came to me while you and I were talking. I searched for Neebish Island on my phone. It borders Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and Canada. That’s where she either crossed or is planning on crossing.”
“And so that’s where you’re headed, I assume?”
Derek drew a long breath. Held it for several seconds.
“You’re right, Rachel. You’re right I need to be home for a while. Maybe take a month or two off from chasing bad people, Gracers included.”
“Or maybe a vacation?” Rachel suggested.
“Can’t imagine where I’d want to go.”
“I know a place.”
About the Author
One thing about writing Derek Cole thrillers I’ve found is there’s always another story begging to be written. This book, Deathly Reminders, was written in my head while I was driving home from a family vacation on Anna Maria Island. The drive was split into two days, twelve hours each day. And before I pulled in to my driveway at home, another story had began clawing at my mind.
The next Derek Cole book—the title of which has yet to come to me—is all about coming home. About coming full circle, completing journeys.
I’ve included the first chapter for your “very early” sneak peek and would love to hear your ideas about it. In fact, I’d love to hear your thoughts, comments and suggestions on any of my novels. Because hearing from people who read what I write is like coming home for me. Reviews complete the circle for an author.
Thanks for reading!
T Patrick Phelps
November 3, 2016
@tpatrickphelps.com
authortpp
www.tpatrickphelps.com
[email protected]
Other Books by T Patrick Phelps
The Derek Cole Series
Heartless US UK CA A
U
Those of the Margin US UK CA AU
The Observer US UK CA AU
The Devil’s Snare US UK CA AU
Still, Heartless US UK CA AU
Stand Alones
The Demon Senders US UK CA AU
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Next in the Derek Cole Thriller Series
Full Circle
He drove for nine days. Sixteen hours each day. Sometimes heading towards his home in Ohio, sometimes headed towards California. Three and a half thousand plus miles after leaving the Tampa area, Derek Cole was no closer to being home than when he shut the car door and pulled out of the hotel’s parking lot.
And he didn’t care.
Didn’t care if he was back home in one more day or in twenty more days. Didn’t matter.
He was waiting.
Waiting for Rachel to call. To let him know Jessica Gracers was spotted in Kentucky, or Texas, or Arizona or Costa Rica or that someone had found proof that she did cross into Canada from Neebish Island. Didn’t matter where she was spotted. Wherever it was, that’s where he would head. Waiting to hear if someone had taken matters into their own hands and brought FJ DeNuzzio to a whole different level of justice. He took breaks every four or five hours to use a bathroom, fill up his gas tank, grab something to eat and to scour the Tampa Bay area news websites for any news related to Jessica Gracers or FJ DeNuzzio.
He found nothing about either.
It was close to eleven at night before he pulled into a roadside motel. Dropped a wrinkled hundred dollar bill on the grimy counter, grabbed the room key and walked into his rented room. Hadn’t even closed the door behind him before his iPhone sounded.
It wasn’t Rachel calling. It was his old partner from the Columbus Police Department.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been to your office around twenty times in the past week looking for you.”
“You stalking me, Terry?”
Terry Manner was a fifteen-year veteran with the Columbus Police Department. He and Derek were assigned to be partners in his fourth year on the force. The two remained partners until the day Derek turned in his badge and started his own private detective agency.
“Just want to make sure you heard it from me and not from some damn news source. You haven’t heard anything, have you?”
“About what?”
“You haven’t heard, have you? Seriously, where are you?”
“Not sure where I am. Somewhere between Florida and Oregon. What the hell are you talking about? What haven’t I heard that you’re so concerned about?”
“It’s about Lucy, Derek. About her death.”
Some wounds never heal. Not fully, at least. Some lose their ripping sting, lose their bite, but not their penchant to deliver immediate, all encompassing pain. Hearing Lucy’s name from most people usually made Derek smile at his memory of her. Talking about her took more of his pain away. Made him focus on what he loved about her, not about how she died.
But when someone who knew her, knew how she died, was standing beside Derek, watching her die, mentioned her name, the pain erupted as if time hadn’t weakened it in the least.
Derek choked back tears. Took a short breath to steady his voice.
“What about Lucy?”
“Listen, brother. I’d really rather sit down face to face with you. Rather tell you in person,” Terry said, his voice low, controlled, pregnant with worry.
“That’s not going to happen,” Derek said. “Tell me.”
“Derek,” Terry stammered, “I don’t know exactly how to say this and, trust me dude, I don’t know all the details yet but I’m working on them, but, the asshole who killed Lucy? He wasn’t working alone.”
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Deathly Reminders: a Derek Cole Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 6) Page 28