The Mather Triad: Series Boxed Set (Chloe Mather Thrillers)

by Lawrence Kelter

  “I’m a processing supervisor.” She leaned over, trying to peer into the narrow space between the hood and the engine compartment.

  He watched as she became increasingly frustrated over her inability to pop the hood.

  “Shit!” she said in a defeated tone.

  “Here, let me have a look at it,” he insisted.

  “No. That’s okay,” she said, but Hayes was already getting out of his truck. She looked around, hoping to see a familiar face, but the night was dead silent except for the patter of rain, and the parking lot was deserted. “I guess. I mean if you don’t mind.”

  “Not a problem.”

  She stepped aside to permit him access.

  He fed his hands under the hood. It popped immediately.

  Well, I’ll be damned. “God, I’m so embarrassed,” Maisy said. “You’d think a country girl would be able to do a simple thing like that.” She shrugged. “My husband’s the one who usually takes care of the cars.”

  “I guess he’s not too good at it,” Hayes said with lighthearted sarcasm. “You ought to join AAA or something.”

  “I guess. I never got stuck before. The stupid car is only a few years old.”

  Hayes lifted the hood until it locked into place. The overhead parking lot lights cast adequate illumination for him to examine the engine compartment. “So just exactly what were you going to do after you got the hood open?”

  Maisy shrugged again. “Boost the engine, I guess.”

  “You got jumper cables?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe in the trunk.”

  “Never mind, I’ve got a set.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind? I can call my husband.”

  “It’s midnight,” he said as he walked to the rear of the covered pickup and released the tailgate. “You want to wake him up?”

  Maisy smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t say he’d be happy about it.”

  “I suppose he’ll be even less happy after he finds out that I disconnected your ignition lead and now I’m planning to bang you like a screen door.”

  “What?” Maisy’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped. Hayes had spoken in a voice that was completely devoid of any emotion. The passive nature of his speech and the violent nature of his threat were diametrically opposite. She was still processing his words when he threw a haymaker that exploded squarely against her temple. She staggered backwards, looking like someone in a drunken stupor, and then fell.

  Hayes pounced on her like a large cat, rolled her over, and bound her wrists and ankles with duct tape.

  Her eyelids flittered for a moment and then fell as he ripped off another strip of tape to cover her mouth. He flipped her onto his shoulder like a large bag of flour and dumped her into the car. He unzipped her jacket and ran his fingertips over her blouse and jeans. She was only twenty-six and without a single ounce of unnecessary fat. “Smooth. She’s so fresh and smooth.” His voice trembled and crackled from the intense level of his excitement. Her face was oval-shaped and her lips plump. He stroked her long brown hair and then ran his fingertips along the inside of her thigh. “Ahhhh!” His breathing became erratic, and he shuddered as an involuntary spasm racked his body. “Princess,” he said with elation, “you’re such a slut.”

  ~~~

  He threw the small dead woman over his shoulder as if she were a stiff little ragdoll and carried her over the ice to the shanty. Her feet were bare. He had only dressed her in her outer clothes and jacket, just enough to avoid suspicion if someone noticed her in the back seat during the long drive north to Saranac Lake.

  He undressed Maisy’s corpse and rested her on her back next to the large hole he had just cut, careful to place her discarded clothing under her so that her skin would not bond with the ice. Her skin was pale, but he still took delight in touching her. One last time, he thought. Her legs were still smooth as he once again grazed her thighs, sliding his hand slowly higher and higher until … “Thank you, princess.” He kissed her dead lips and then donned the Tyvex coveralls he had purchased at Walmart—zipped it up and tugged the hood over his head.

  He became sentimental while studying the delicate contours of the woman he had repeatedly defiled and decided that she deserved to be dismembered with delicacy and finesse. The chainsaw teeth sliced through the flesh at the inguinal crease with exactness, separating her leg from her groin. He placed it in a clear heavy-duty garbage bag along with a heavy rock. He removed the remaining body parts with equal precision and packaged them all for disposal.

  After Maisy had been dispatched along with her clothing and personal effects, he used the spud bar to scrape her frozen blood off the ice and pushed the crimson slush into the water. He looked around the shanty, examining it for missed bloodstains, and then filled a five-gallon pail with frigid lake water, which he used to form a new top layer of ice, sealing any minute traces of blood beneath it.

  The rigors of his task had left him ravenous. He still had some of the ration bars he had removed from the bear vault, and a thermos of hot coffee. He decided to have a snack before getting back on the road for the return trip down south. He was completely self-absorbed, his mind drowning in endorphins that were generated from reliving the moment he first raped her. He was pouring coffee from his thermos when a stranger rapped on his window. His heart jumped as coffee overflowed the cup and scalded his lap.

  Chapter 32

  Monticello, New York

  Sullivan County Blood Center

  Tom Whitaker made a few last entries on his tablet to complete the daily inventory. By his count, he was short one unit of blood. No big whoop, he thought. One over. One under. He made a notation stating that one unit was found damaged and was destroyed. He adjusted his figure to match the computer inventory, approved the entry, and signed off. “It all comes out in the wash,” he said aloud as he locked the door to the refrigerated storage room. Any discrepancies mandated a full recount of the inventory, and the missing unit was Type O unscreened for CMV, which represented almost half of the units at the repository. No way I’m staying here half the night over one missing bag of blood. The Church of God, Love, and Jesus had just sponsored a blood drive, and the refrigerators were crammed to the rafters, more blood than the county would need for quite some time.

  Whitaker plugged his tablet into the charger and made a beeline for the locker room. He grabbed his jacket and backpack and headed for the front door.

  Jo’Ell Sand, a part-time watchman, turned when he heard Whitaker approaching.

  Whitaker greeted him a friendly voice, “Why Mr. Sand, you filling in for Grimes again?” He gave Jo’Ell a high five. “Doing the four-to-twelve for him?”

  “Yessir. We all good back there?” he asked in his familiar breathy nasal voice.

  “Just like Maxwell House, my man.” Whitaker spouted with a grin. “Good to the last drop.”

  Sand wrinkled his nose. “That’s disgusting.”

  “You try being upbeat counting blood bags all day. Got to keep my spirits up. Know what I mean, dude?”

  “You heading over to Johnny’s Bar?”

  “You bet—a couple pints of draft and a lap dance and I’ll be right as rain. They got this new girl from Canada. Her name is Olive, and she’s got cans the size of watermelons. You ought to stop by.”

  “I’m usually pretty tired by the end of my shift. No one dancing by the time I get there except the skanks anyway.”

  “Even a skank can make a man feel happy.” He winked at Jo’Ell. “Know what I mean? They’re all the same in the dark.”

  “Ain’t it the truth.”

  “See you around, Jo’Ell.”

  “Yup. See you around.”

  The blood center was open twenty-four hours a day for emergencies, but the front door locked automatically after standard business hours. Jo’Ell listened for the familiar click of the electric lock and then opened his Igloo lunch box. He removed a thermos of cold juice and his sandwich, leaving within it an ice pack, a bag of she
lled pistachios, and a stolen unit of Type O blood.

  Book III:

  The Batman

  Chapter 33

  January 28, 1985

  Life comes easy for some children, but there are those like Jo’Ell Sand who struggle from the moment of conception.

  Diamond Sand stood in the neonatal intensive care unit, watching her prematurely delivered son fight to stay alive. He was only three days old and had already undergone two lifesaving surgical procedures. She dabbed at her tears as he writhed in pain inside the incubator. It’s not fair. He’s so small. Dear Lord, why? she wondered. Why are you doing this to him? What did I do to make you so mad at me? “Kill me instead,” she cried. “Kill me and let my baby live.” A strand of rosary beads was wrapped around her fingers with the cross pressed firmly between her thumb and index finger. She raised it to her lips and kissed it. Sweet Lord, please save him. Show mercy on my son.

  Diamond Sand had been born poor and had always struggled to get by. Her life had been ordinary and uneventful, but she accepted the hand she had been dealt and would’ve been content to live out her days quietly and unassumingly if tragedy had not intervened.

  Chapter 34

  June 6, 1985: Seven and a half months earlier.

  He called himself Blunt.

  Diamond had tried to pry his real name out of him several times but was never able to do it. She would guess at it when she was alone in bed for the night and bestow upon him those names she liked best, usually Isaiah, Rueben, or Samuel. He was an enigma, a mysterious new face on the Coney Island landscape, a man with no history, no local family, and a Christian name he refused to divulge.

  “Why won’t you tell me your name?” she asked insistently. “What’s the big secret?”

  “I been telling you, girl, the name is Blunt.”

  “No mama and daddy ever gave their baby boy a name like Blunt. That’s some trash-talking name your friends gave you. That ain’t no real name.”

  “Well, it’s mine.”

  “Fess up—you know it ain’t so. Blunt? Huh. You’ve got to be kidding.”

  He pulled a stogie out from behind his ear and lit the end with the wooden match he had been sucking on like a toothpick. “What you care so much about a name, anyway? It’s what the man is, not what he’s called.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Give me a kiss, Diamond, and then maybe I’ll give you a hint.”

  “Are you crazy?” She looked around warily to see which of her neighbors were spying on her. “Out here? Settin’ on the front steps? What kind of girl you think I am, anyway?

  “This kind.” He tightened his grip around her, forcing her closer, and kissed her.

  Diamond giggled. Very few boys had shown interest in her, and she was excited that someone was finally treating her like an object of desire. She pushed him away and gave him a playful slap on the arm, a slap that begged him to try again. She was not an attractive girl, eighteen years old, tall and gangly with buckteeth and kinky hair twisted into points like the spines on a sea urchin. She had light black skin and conspicuous dark freckles. She pulled at one of the spines and twisted it. “You’re bad.”

  “Me? Bad? No, ma’am, just showing my girl some affection.” He puffed on the stogie until it was done and then flicked it away.

  Me? I’m his girl? “Say what? What makes you think I want to be your girl?” she said, protesting without conviction. “You must think a whole hell of a lot of yourself.”

  He touched his forehead to hers and looked into her eyes. “You got some real pretty eyes, Diamond. How ’bout another kiss fo’ old Blunt?”

  “I ain’t give you the first one—you took it without asking.”

  “Don’t be dissing me like that … Hey, I got some reefer over at my place. Come down to the basement with me, and we’ll smoke some.”

  “Are you crazy? I ain’t going down no basement with you. What will all the neighbors say?”

  “It’ll be dark soon, and all your snoopy-nose neighbors will be getting by the stove to cook dinner for their men. I’ll walk to the corner store and bring back two big-ass cans of Colt malt liquor. We’ll have us a real fine time.”

  “I don’t know about that. I don’t think you’re the kind of boy who can be trusted.” She was saying all the right things, everything her mother told her a good girl should say, but down deep, her heart was racing and her skin was alive with the anticipation of his next touch.

  “C’mon, girl, we’ll smoke a J and drink some malt liquor.” He nuzzled her neck. “I’ll make you feel so good. It’ll be like heaven on earth. You’re so beautiful and ripe. C’mon, girl, come lay down for old Blunt. You’re a full-grown woman now. Don’t be letting yo’ best days slip away. You want to feel like a real woman, don’t you?”

  “But I—”

  His eyes lit up. He understood what she was about to say and beat her to the punch. “You mean I’ll be the first? I can’t believe a woman as fine as yoself ain’t been with a man. You a virgin? Damn, girl, that’ll make it so much better. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to have a man inside you?”

  Diamond stood abruptly. She was flustered. Her heart was pounding, and sweat was dripping down her back as she responded to his ham-fisted attempt at seduction, more disappointed with herself than with him for wanting to go through with it. “Not tonight,” she blurted and hurried up the stairs into her apartment house.

  Chapter 35

  A mild breeze wafted the fragrance of Katahdin potatoes frying in corn oil as Diamond walked past Nathan’s Famous on Surf Avenue in Brooklyn. The mouthwatering aroma of fried foods made her hungry, but the pain in her belly caused her to hasten away. It was noon and she was dreadfully nauseous. She’d normally stop off for a cone-shaped cup of delicious fried spuds, but now the idea of eating anything greasy sent her racing to the bathroom. She heard the release of air brakes and turned over her shoulder to see a bus coming up Surf Avenue. She broke into a feeble trot so that she wouldn’t miss it and her appointment at the free clinic.

  ~~~

  The doctor sitting in front of her was not the one who had examined her on her first visit. Dr. Patel was slight and had a pencil mustache. His dark skin contrasted sharply against his white shirt and physician’s jacket. He studied the test results in her folder before looking up with a patronizing expression. “Ms. Sand,” he mumbled in an accent so heavy it sounded as if his lips were pasted together, “I strongly recommend that you abort your pregnancy.”

  “What?” Diamond folded her arms across her stomach as if to shield the life growing within. Tears began to stream down her face. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “There are a multitude of complications.”

  “But I want my baby,” she cried imploringly. “Why I can’t I have it?”

  Patel touched his fingertips together and flared his nostrils. “You have two very large fibroid tumors near the opening of the cervix, and they will only get larger as the pregnancy advances.”

  Her mouth opened wide. She stared at Patel in disbelief. “Oh my God. Do I have cancer?”

  “No,” he blurted, annoyed with her persistence and lack of understanding. “Not cancer, just fibroids. You’re unusually young to have them, but the ultrasound image is quite clear. The opening to the cervix is blocked and will prevent the baby from passing through. You could have a cesarean section, but …”

  “But?”

  “Ms. Sand, I’m telling you this for your own good,” he said impatiently. “Your fibroids have caused you to bleed, you’re in terrible pain, and you’re at risk for premature delivery, not to mention the fact that the father’s whereabouts are unknown. You’re eighteen years old, and …” He pressed his lips together. “Ms. Sand, you have pelvic inflammatory disease. Do you know what that is?”

  Clearly terrified, she shook her head violently. Tears continued to stream down her cheeks. She stared at the box of tissues on the windowsill, but Patel did not respond to her suggestion. “Am I going to die?”


  “No.” You stupid woman. “But you have to treated immediately. You have VD.”

  “The clap?”

  He shook his head with dismay. My God, they’re all the same; ants in the pants and willing to lie down for any man with an erect penis. “Yes. Why did you not use a condom?”

  “Blunt said he was taking care of it.”

  Patel closed his eyes and shook his head woefully. I can’t bear this a moment longer. Why didn’t I become a dermatologist like my brother Kenan? “This man, the one you listed on the admission forms—he’s the father, this Blunt?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is his correct name?”

  “Far as I know.”

  Far as I know. Idiot! “And you have no idea where he is?”

  “No,” she sniffled. “He left me. I ain’t seen him in months.”

  “Does he even know that you’re pregnant?”

  Diamond shrugged. “I told him I missed my period.” She looked down at the floor for a long moment, looking lost. “Dr. Patel, are you sure I can’t have my baby?”

  She only hears what she wants to hear. “The abortion is very easy. No cutting and no surgery. You will get an injection of methotrexate, and the pregnancy will be terminated. Trust me, you’ll feel much better afterwards.” He closed his folder and tossed it atop a tall stack of other folders in his out box. “You can schedule the procedure at the front desk.”

  “But—”

  “Ms. Sand, I have thirty young women just like you waiting to see me. I can’t make the decision for you, but why would you want a child to come into the world facing such adverse obstacles? The world doesn’t need another fatherless baby and a mother who can’t take care of it.” He walked to the medicine cabinet and filled a syringe.

  She watched him as he purged the air bubbles. “What’s that?”

  “Penicillin. Please turn around and pull down your underwear.”