CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Part Two
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Part Three
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Untitled Document
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
From the Author
Heartless
(A Derek Cole Suspense Thriller)
T Patrick Phelps
Jabby House Publications
https://www.facebook.com/authortpp
Editor: Marjorie Kramer
Phoenix Rising Editing
[email protected]
Cover Designed by Nathaniel Dasco
Connect with the author on his Facebook Page.
https://www.facebook.com/authortpp
Copyright © 2014 T Patrick Phelps Writing Services, Inc.
All rights reserved.
CHAPTER ONE
2014
“I didn’t know where else to turn.”
Derek Cole hated hearing those words. In his line of work, he came to expect that his clients would feel this way, but each time he heard a client tell him that the only reason they contacted him was out of desperation, he cringed at being their last option.
“No one else would ever believe me,” his client said as he sat on the damp park bench beside Derek.
Derek preferred to meet his clients in parks in whichever city they happen to be. This city was Chicago and the park was Grant Park. He liked being outside and preferred meeting with clients in places that, if things took a wrong turn, he could have both quick access to an exit and enough people around to discourage ill-tempered clients from making a scene.
Or worse.
While Derek stood exactly six feet tall and weighed a solid 190, his light brown hair, clean-shaven face, and power blue eyes did not give him the intimidating looks that others in his line of work enjoyed. He had found himself in “challenging” circumstances with past clients when he used to meet with them in whatever hotel Derek was staying. He decided after one client gave him a broken nose and a slight concussion that outdoor client meetings in public places were better choices.
After receiving a call from this new client yesterday and after confirming that the “down payment” was safely deposited in his account, Derek purchased a one-way ticket from his hometown airport to Chicago’s O’Hare. Though Derek had visited the windy city a few times during his years working as a “freelance detective,” he hadn’t spent enough time in Chicago to learn his way around. What Derek did know was that Grant Park, like most every public park in America, would not offer any degree of suspicious privacy.
“You understand that you are paying my accrued fees whether or not I can help you, correct?” Derek said.
“Of course. Money is not an issue,” his client responded.
Derek liked it when money wasn’t an issue. He liked when clients understood that his services were expensive and didn’t barter over the final tab.
“You’ve been on the clock for the past sixteen hours.”
“Understood.”
“Good,” Derek said as he pulled out a moleskin notepad and fine point black pen. The moleskin notebook was a gift from his last client, given to Derek to replace his reliance on scraps of paper, napkins, and Egg McMuffin wrappers to serve as his notebook. “Please don’t vomit your whole story on me. Let me guide you through what I need to know. If I ask for details, then and only then do I want you to give me details. If I say ‘vomit,’ then feel free to tell me everything you know, including your opinions. Make sense?”
“Yes. Can we begin?”
“Start with your full name and how it was that you learned of my services.”
“My name is Thomas O’Connell. I prefer to be called ‘Thomas.’ My uncle, Roger O’Connell hired you last year. Says that you’re the best man for the job.”
“Roger O’Connell is your uncle?” Derek said. “The lawyer outside of Chicago? Good guy. Paid without an argument, and I was able to solve his problem in just two or three days, if I remember correctly.”
“He said it took you four days, but he was happy with the results.”
Derek absently began tracing the three-inch scar on his left cheek, not reminding himself of its cause but, for a moment, of the person for whom the scar was created. “Yeah,” he said, “I think it was a four-day job.”
He brought his hand back to his lap and flipped through several scribbled pages of his moleskin before resuming the conversation.
“Okay, Thomas. Tell me in fifty words or less why you contacted me and what you need taken care of.”
Thomas breathed deeply, collecting his thoughts. To Derek, it seemed that Thomas was rehearsing his story in his mind to make sure it would come in under the fifty-word limit.
After a long pause, Thomas looked out over Lake Michigan that bordered Grant Park and began speaking.
“My twin brother, Alexander, has already killed at least three people. I have reason to believe that he is planning on killing more people, including my parents. And maybe me as well.”
“He killed three people, and you think coming to me is a better option than going to the police?” Derek asked.
“The police are already involved. But there are other circumstances.”
“There always are. What are yours?”
“I may have to give some details for you to understand.”
Derek sighed. To him, details were things often offered yet seldom needed. He believed that part of his job was to uncover the details as he proceeded though his tasks. One detail leads to another.
“Give me your reasoning behind your need to give me a history lesson.”
“My brother was born without a heart and with only half of a lung,” Thomas said as quickly as he could. “He isn’t really alive, or at least he shouldn’t be.”
Derek had been hired to assist in many cases; some “run of the mill” and some that were downright odd. He learned that clients often exaggerated to give more credence to their side of the story in case Derek ever heard the other side.
“Vomit.”
CHAPTER TWO
&nb
sp; 2014
As he sat in his living room reading a novel by Graham Greene, Alexander heard the familiar sound of the hallway door opening. A check of the clock told him that he had been reading for nearly 20 straight hours. A few seconds after hearing the noise, the familiar voice of Doctor Jacob Curtis sounded through the intercom.
“Alexander, it’s Doctor Curtis and Doctor Peter Adams. Please go into your bedroom and fasten the hook to the door. Thank you.”
Alexander gently placed the novel onto the coffee table and entered his bedroom. He attached the metal hook to the thick, steel door. Seconds later, the loud, ratcheting sound of the winch was heard from the hallway outside of his living room. Within a few seconds, the rope tightened, and its pull sealed his bedroom door closed.
The two doctors entered the room, both wearing smiles.
“Alexander,” Jacob Curtis said, “you may just end up saving thousands of lives.”
“Tell me how,” Alexander whispered. The door separating the living room, or “reading room” as Alexander preferred to have it called, was custom built, designed, and installed. Knowing the force that the ratchet and pulley system would demand, the contractor had used two-inch thick, heavy gage, solid steel in the construction of the door. In order to afford line of sight into and out of the bedroom area, the contractor had installed a three foot by three foot glass window pane, reinforced with crisscrossing steel mesh. Anchors were used on both sides of the door to give the framing the strength needed to withstand the draw of the pulley as well. The intercom system, which was always in the “on” position, had both microphones and speakers positioned in both the reading and bedrooms.
“Something wrong, Alex?” Jacob Curtis asked. Though he was too excited to be overly concerned about Alexander, the idea of asking seemed right. “You sound as if you are weakening.”
“A little tired is all. Sleep will be coming soon, I fear,” Alexander answered with an even quieter voice.
“Well then, we will make this brief.”
“I certainly would not want to fall asleep while you are giving me this wonderful news,” Alexander said in a thin, whisper of a voice.
It was too late when the doctors noticed. The hook drilled into and through the steel part of the bedroom door was held in place by a locking nut on the bedroom side of the door. As the doctors looked down at Alexander’s hands, they saw the reason he was whispering. The locking nut had been removed and the only thing holding back the force of the pulley system was the grip of Alexander Black.
The doctors knew all too well that Alexander was dangerous and that letting their guard down when around Alexander could find them in a potentially dire situation. They were trained to look for signs that their patient was planning something: signs that may indicate that something was out of place. Anything suggesting that Alexander was scheming something. Alexander knew that the doctors would have suspected something when he could only speak through whispers, but he also relied on the doctor’s excitement to cloud their caution.
When he saw the realization flash across the doctor’s faces, Alexander released his hold and let the hook fly across the room. The door separating Alexander from the doctors rebounded open once the pulled force was absent.
Peter and Jacob darted to the hallway door and towards the safety of the hallway. Their escape was cut short by the gripping hands of Alexander Black.
“Now doctors,” he said as he redirected them to the middle of the reading room. “I thought that you were coming to give me some news. Why leave before you have a chance to tell me?”
“Alexander,” Jacob Curtis spoke as his eyebrows raised to a point so high across his brow that they were almost joining his hairline, “you know the rules. Why don’t you get back into your bedroom, and we will agree not to tell Doctor Straus about this episode?”
“Because, Doctor, my education is complete. At least this part of my education. My undergraduate work, if you will. I feel confident that I am ready to enter the world that I have studied so diligently over these several years.”
Jacob Curtis usually carried a stun gun in his pocket whenever he went to visit Alexander. As he was trying to convince Alexander to go back into his bedroom, he slowly slid his hand in the coat pocket, searching for the familiar shape.
“Doctor Curtis, I am sorry to say that your little ‘stun-gun’ is not where you wish it to be. In your state of excitement, I imagine that you left it elsewhere. I noticed that the slight bulge that usually fills your coat pocket was absent as you entered my reading room. I am sorry. You should be more careful.”
Alexander directed the two doctors, who were now shaking with fear, to sit down on the couch. Alexander circled them, pausing occasionally as if he was considering his next move.
It was Jacob Curtis, however, who made the next move. He jumped from the couch and charged Alexander. His attempt at a physical takeover ended with him being thrown back to his original spot on the couch. His head whipped back from the force of Alexander’s shove.
“Not intelligent, Doctor. Another move like that will cost you more than a simple case of whiplash. Sit and be quiet while I prepare my statements.”
There seemed to be no escape for the doctors. Jacob Curtis, now holding his neck in pain, nodded his cooperation to Alexander, who again began circling the two couched doctors.
Alexander stood six foot two, and weighed 225 pounds. The last body fat composition test that the doctors gave to Alexander showed that 184 of his 225 pounds were solid, rock hard muscle.
After several minutes, Alexander sat across from the doctors in a wooden rocking chair that screamed under his weight as he sat.
“Doctor Curtis, Doctor Adams,” he began. “I am pleased to say that your fame will now be assured. You will be known as the doctors who not only allowed my escape, but also as the doctors who taught me so much about the world. Though not all of my knowledge came via your knowledge or permission.”
“Alexander,” Peter spoke, trying to intimidate Alexander using his one-time powerful voice, “I have had just about enough of your games. Get back into your bedroom, and I will consider not taking away all of your books. Do it now before I change my mind.”
“Doctor Adams,” Alexander said, stilling his body so that his voice could attain a more powerful level, “you are not in the position to give orders. Your position calls more for begging than demanding. Be quiet, or I may change my mind and make you even more famous by making you my first victim.
“My education is complete. I will no longer remain here serving as your lab rat. I have people that I wish to see. Conversations that I’ve dreamed of having with people, which now beg to be completed with another participant. You have stolen 22 years of my life, dear doctors. I will allow no more time to be taken from me. My education here is complete. For this, I thank you.”
What happened next took place too quickly for Curtis or Adams to have prepared for or to defend against. Alexander finished talking, then leaped atop Jacob Curtis with the quickness of a lion. Before Jacob could scream in pain or in terror, Alexander began pounding his iron fists into Jacob’s chest, crushing bones and sending sharp, shattered fragments into his heart and lungs. Alexander’s blows were so powerful that the final blows punched their way through Jacob’s chest.
“Good night, good doctor,” Alexander said as he jumped off the dead doctor. He held his hands up in front of himself as if they were trophies, lustfully envying the bright red blood flowing effortlessly down his arms.
Doctor Adams found his old, powerful voice again. No words were formed, only a scream as Alexander crushed the right side of his head with a single punch. At first, Alexander thought that he had killed Peter Adams, but a quick check of the doctor’s pulse and labored but steady breathing assured Alexander that the doctor had a fighting chance if attended to quickly. Alexander had no plans to call an ambulance, but he knew that someone would discover the two bodies. Hopefully, not too late for Doctor Adams.
“If I could o
nly whistle,” he thought to himself as he entered the hallway, “this picture would be complete.”
He was free.
He paused, looking over his work. He knew what was supposed to happen next. It had all been planned. Alexander felt that while intentionally killing Doctor Jacob Curtis was a bit of improvisation, his part of the plan was going exactly as it was designed.
After another minute, Alexander checked the pulse of Peter Adams.
Heartless: a Derek Cole Mystery Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 1) Page 1