Snapped: An Agent Jade Monroe FBI Thriller Book 1

by Sutter, C. M.

  “Agent Monroe, I really need to leave.”

  “Just one more minute.”

  Jordan heaved a disgruntled sigh. “We had a retaining wall built that fell over, causing extensive damage. The inspector that represented Cemcom said nobody was to blame and the wall had been built correctly. He blamed it on the overabundance of rain last April. Now please, I have to go.”

  “Where is your husband, ma’am?”

  “He’s a medical sales rep and travels a lot. He isn’t expected home until Sunday.” Jordan turned the key in the ignition. “Are we done now?”

  “Yes, I suppose. Drive carefully and mind the speed limit.”

  Jordan backed out of the driveway and took off down the street. She watched for headlights following her out, but all she saw was darkness.

  Less than ten minutes later, Jordan turned in to a sprawling neighborhood with upscale custom homes. Every home had an expansive yard of an acre or more. She appreciated the fact that fewer eyeballs on his house would make slipping away far easier.

  Nighttime came early in fall, and the sun had already gone down. Blackness took over as she crept forward. Her car’s headlights bounced off the immaculate lawns of those upper-class homes. The robotic GPS voice called out that she had reached her destination. Jordan pulled into the last driveway on the block—the home with the best yard, fitting for somebody in that field of work. She killed the lights and the engine then retrieved the cinder block from the backseat and hid it within the shrubbery near the front door.

  She brushed the cement dust off the front of her jacket then smoothed her long blond hair and tucked the wayward strands behind her ears. She removed her glasses and placed them in her left jacket pocket before she rang the bell—nearly a half hour early.

  Each approaching footstep sounded louder as he neared the door. She waited and smoothed her hair a final time. Through the beveled glass, she saw Myron Dormin. He pulled the door open, and a pleased expression covered his face. His smile accentuated his dimples, and he stretched out a welcoming hand.

  “You must be Jordan Green. Welcome to Dormin Landscape Designs. Did we get the time wrong?”

  “No, and I apologize for being early, but I was nearby.”

  He smiled again. “No worries. Pardon my stare, but you’re quite tall for a woman.”

  “I’ve heard that before, and yes to your next question. I was a basketball star in college.” She chuckled coquettishly through her lies about those nonexistent college years and the made-up last name.

  Jordan turned heads, not only because she exceeded six feet in height but also because she was a strikingly beautiful thirty-three-year-old woman. Beauty had one purpose and one purpose only in her mind—to distract those killers long enough to exact revenge on them. Her beautiful face was the tool that got her through many doors.

  “Please, come in. My studio is this way.” Myron turned left beyond the foyer.

  Jordan followed a few steps back while her eyes darted left and right for a tool of opportunity. She dipped her hand in the right jacket pocket and felt the shape of the stun gun.

  “So, you’re looking to change the landscape of your backyard. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, and I’m anxious to see your work.”

  “Certainly, here we are.” He motioned to the guest chair next to his computer. “Please, have a seat. Would you like me to take your coat?”

  “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

  “Okay, I’ve designed three mock-ups for you. Of course, they’re just something to start with. I can change anything as we go along.”

  Except what you’ve already done. It’s too late for that. You can’t take it back.

  Jordan glanced at the geometry tools on his drafting table—one in particular caught her eye. She smiled. Maybe she wouldn’t need the stun gun after all.

  “Excuse me for just a second while I get the printouts.”

  Myron momentarily left the room, which gave Jordan barely enough time to grab what she needed off the drafting table. She slipped on the latex gloves and took her seat with only seconds to spare. Myron reentered the studio.

  “Here we go. These are for you to take home.” He placed the printouts on the desk. “Now, let’s get to the meat and potatoes.” He chuckled and clicked a few computer keys. A 3-D rendering of different backyard styles popped up on the screen.

  Jordan thumbed the tool in her pocket and made some adjustments as she secured it in her hand.

  “Oh my word, those images are amazing.” She leaned in closer, barely inches from Myron’s face and felt his hot breath against her cheek.

  In one fast thrust, she plunged the sharp metal spike of the geometry compass into his right temple. Blood sprayed out with each heartbeat as Myron flailed and tried to pull the tool from his head.

  “I don’t think so.” She spun his chair and pulled his arms, wrenching his shoulders backward unnaturally until he went limp. “Finally. You murderer.”

  As she released his arms, his body slid off the chair and dropped to the floor. The stretching snap of the gloves being pulled off sent blood spatter across the computer screen. With the gloves turned inside out, Jordan balled them up and slipped them into her pocket then put on a clean pair. She wasn’t about to leave behind fingerprints or a blood evidence trail. She ran out the front door and grabbed the cinder block from behind the bushes. Back in the studio, she assumed he was already dead, but her point still needed to be made. Jordan held the block level with her chest and directly above his head then released it. The crunching impact of his skull being split in half reminded her of cracking open an egg shell. She knelt down and made sure the compass was still in his temple then looked at her jacket in disgust—blood spray coated it. With the jacket off and turned inside out, she slipped her glasses back on and deleted the file Myron had made for her on his computer. With the folder and printouts in hand, along with his daily planner, she exited the house and climbed into her car. As Jordan backed out of the driveway and turned the wheel, a set of approaching headlights nearly blinded her. She pulled the visor down to block the beam as she sped away. With one last glance in the rearview mirror before she turned the corner, Jordan saw the vehicle pull into Myron Dormin’s driveway.

  Chapter 19

  J.T. shifted into park and killed the engine then stepped out of the cruiser. He scanned the lush landscape as he followed the sidewalk to the front door. He pressed the doorbell. Through the door’s glass, he saw the illuminated foyer lights. He waited for the sound of footsteps, but they never came. J.T. pressed the bell again and continued to wait. Assuming that nobody was coming to the door, he pulled out his phone and called Dormin Landscape Designs. No answer—voicemail picked up.

  That’s weird. I talked to him less than a half hour ago.

  Not quite sure what to do, J.T. grasped the doorknob and gave it a turn. The door swung open, and he cautiously peeked in. That eerie silence sent a chill up his spine when he called out to Myron and got no response. He felt the cold steel of his service weapon and pulled it out of the holster as he walked through the foyer. Straight ahead lay a large great room—it was vacant. Hallways veered right and left. He chose left only because lights were on in that direction. With his head on a swivel, J.T. hugged the wall and pushed forward slowly, his gun drawn and against his chest in case of an ambush. He had no idea whether someone lay in wait, and each room needed to be cleared before he continued to the next. A quick peek around the corner showed the first room on the left to be an office. A large desk, bookcase, and printer on a credenza filled the space. The room appeared undisturbed, but the blinking light on the printer caught his attention. He continued on and checked the next room across the hall—a powder room, and it was clear.

  “Mr. Dormin, are you here?” Still no answer.

  Two more doors were down that hallway. One definitely entered into a room, and the other could be a closet, he thought as he compared door sizes. J.T. looked around the doorframe to a scene he wouldn’t e
asily forget. A body, who he assumed was Myron Dormin, lay on the floor, his head smashed beneath a cinder block and clearly dead. A quick sweep of the room showed no evidence of anyone else there.

  “Son of a bitch.” J.T. dialed Jade, knowing she could round up the right group of people quickly while he continued to clear the house. As he knelt with his fingertips on the man’s wrist and listened to Jade’s phone ring, J.T. felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one.

  “Hi, J.T. I’m at the hotel bar. What’s your ETA?”

  “Jade, I need the police and our group at Myron Dormin’s residence immediately. I just arrived and found a dead man lying on the floor. The scene is pretty gruesome. I haven’t even cleared the house yet, but by the looks of the body with a cinder block buried in his skull, I’m assuming it’s Myron Dormin. Here’s the address. Get everyone out here as fast as possible.”

  “Holy shit, I’m on it. I’ll get the nearest police department there first. Be careful, J.T.”

  “Yep, I will.” He clicked off and continued cautiously through the house.

  Chapter 20

  I quickly made the 9-1-1 call, gave them the address, and then scrolled through my phone contacts to find Michelle Tam’s number. I told her that J.T. needed the downtown forensic team and ME at the home of Myron Dormin. After hanging up with her, I called Bruce and Dave. A quick explanation and the address was all they needed. With my bar tab settled, I grabbed the keys for the cruiser I had used earlier, signed the car out, slipped on my FBI jacket, and programmed the address into my GPS. From the hotel, the distance showed a fifteen-minute drive.

  I arrived at the residence where police cars flooded the driveway and street. Red and blue lights flickered on every squad car. The perimeter of the property had already been cordoned off with yellow tape. Several officers stood guard to keep the growing number of looky-loos at bay. I parked along the curb, showed my badge to an officer, and slipped under the tape. J.T.’s cruiser was among the four cars parked in the driveway. The forensics and coroner’s vans were already there. I followed the sidewalk to the well-lit house and met another officer at the front door. He allowed me to enter.

  Inside, part of the forensic team was hard at work, dusting for prints and taking pictures. The mayhem seemed to be down the left hallway by the quantity of people gathered in that area. I reached the bottleneck that spilled out into the hallway from one room. From what I saw over a few shoulders, the group included J.T., more of the forensic team, several officers, and the ME. Other than J.T., I hadn’t caught a glimpse of any other colleagues or Agent Tam yet.

  From behind my back, I heard the familiar no-nonsense voice of Michelle Tam barking out commands. Officers moved aside as she pushed her way through the crowd. I hadn’t made it into the room myself when she reached me.

  “Agent Monroe, what do we have?”

  “I can’t tell, ma’am. I haven’t made it through the crowd yet.”

  “Excuse us. Please move aside and let us through.” She made her presence known, as any high-ranking FBI agent would. The crowd parted, allowing us a small pathway to squeeze through. The sight in front of us was as J.T. described—gruesome.

  J.T. nodded and walked over when he saw us. “Agent Tam, Jade, we’ve got a real mess here.”

  “What do you make of it, other than the obvious block on the man’s head?” Agent Tam asked.

  J.T. jerked his chin toward the body. “I’m sure the blow on the head was the kill shot, but take a look at this.”

  He led us alongside the body and knelt down. We gloved up and did the same. A blood-coated drafting compass was jammed deep into the man’s temple.

  “Has forensics photographed everything in here?” Agent Tam asked.

  George Craig, the senior ME, spoke up. “Not yet, just the body, but now I can proceed while they continue with the rest of the room. My hands were tied until they finished photographing every angle of the deceased.”

  “Understood.” Agent Tam nodded. “Go ahead, George.”

  With gloved hands, the ME lifted the cinder block off the head of the victim and sucked in a deep breath. “Not a pretty sight.”

  “That’s a fact,” J.T. said. “George, would you mind checking for a wallet so we can rule out the possibility of this man being anyone besides Myron Dormin?”

  “Sure thing, Agent Harper.” George patted the pant pockets of the deceased and felt the shape of a wallet in the rear left pocket. “Here we go.” He lifted the man’s hip and slid the wallet out then flipped the trifold open. He nodded and handed the wallet to J.T.

  J.T. double-checked the name and address on the driver’s license as well as the description of the man. As it stood, the photo didn’t help. “By the description,” J.T. said, “it’s definitely Myron Dormin. He had to have been killed minutes before I arrived.”

  George jerked his head toward the wall clock. “Judging by the time right now, I’d say he was killed less than a half hour ago. His body is still warm to the touch.”

  J.T. nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense and—”

  I blurted out a What? after seeing a surprised expression on J.T.’s face. It was obvious he’d just remembered something.

  “Son of a bitch. This is the last house on the block, correct?”

  A nearby officer confirmed that it was.

  J.T. whispered for us to join him as he stood up and crossed the room. The four of us followed and huddled against the corner wall with him.

  “What’s going on, Agent Harper?” Agent Tam asked.

  J.T. kept his voice low. “When I got here, I passed a car coming toward me from the end of the street. It had to be the killer if there aren’t any houses beyond this one. Damn it. I missed the attack by mere seconds.”

  “Consider yourself lucky. By the way each of the crime scenes looked, that killer is no joke,” Dave Miller said.

  “Did you get a look at the car?” I asked, even though I knew how dark the area was other than the ambient glow of house lights and the occasional street lamp. I pulled out my notepad, just in case.

  He rubbed his brow, as if in thought. “It wasn’t a compact car or a sports car. My best guess would be a darker sedan. I mean, my headlamps were directly on it, but I wasn’t focused on the car. I was looking for the house number. There was something else too, but what was it?” J.T. contorted his face into a frown as he seemed to be rewinding his thoughts. “That’s right, it was what Myron said while I was on the phone with him.” J.T. looked around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping. “He told me he had an appointment soon. He excused himself from the phone to look up the time. Through the phone line, I heard pages shuffle, then Myron mumbled out loud ‘Jordan Green at five thirty.’ He came back to the phone and told me the time of his appointment.”

  “Then where is this Jordan Green?” I checked my watch—6:00. “And what are the odds of two people named Jordan in one night?”

  “That is odd. Did Myron give you any indication of Jordan being male or female?”

  “No, not at all, and that name could go either way.”

  Agent Tam continued. “I’m sure the officers turned away all cars coming down the street that weren’t in law enforcement.” She looked at J.T. “Do you remember exactly what time you arrived here?”

  “Later than I had hoped. I’m thinking around five twenty.”

  “And what time did you speak to Mr. Dormin on the phone?” Agent Tam nodded at me to write down everything as J.T. recalled it.

  J.T. raised his brow. “It was just before Agent Monroe called me. I was actually getting ready to leave Ted Arneson’s house.” He looked at me. “So that was?”

  I checked my call logs. “Five after five is when I called you.”

  He scratched the stubble on his chin. “Yeah, that sounds right. So in the span of fifteen to twenty minutes’ time, the killer was able to do all of this devastation. That takes precise planning and execution.”

  “Let’s head back to the field office. Sorry, guys, but this takes prio
rity over relaxation,” Agent Tam said. “I’ll order dinner to be brought in.”

  Chapter 21

  We gathered in the conference room again. I had seen more of that space than my own hotel room in the last few days. Agent Tam must have called ahead for someone to bring coffee up to the conference room. Two thermal carafes and a stack of cups sat in the middle of the table when we arrived.

  “Let’s get started, people. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering several large pizzas. They’ll be here soon, and it looks like that’s dinner for tonight.” Agent Tam pulled the ring on the drop-down whiteboard that was attached to the wall behind the table. With a marker in hand, she was ready to write. “Let’s begin with what we know to be true. Somebody is taking out each of these people with a cinder block or cement. The murder weapon has to represent some type of injustice in the killer’s mind, and each of these victims was chosen deliberately.”

  J.T. spoke up. “I heard Myron mention the name Jordan Green, and Jade interviewed a Jordan Taylor within forty-five minutes of the murder.”

  “What about the officers turning away cars approaching Myron’s house?”

  Dave Miller spoke up. “I asked when we left the scene. None of the officers turned away a vehicle.”

  Agent Tam wrote that on the whiteboard. “Tell us about Jordan Taylor, Jade.”

  I let out an exhausted breath and cleared my head. “Okay, I approached the home and saw brake lights flash in the driveway. It appeared that somebody was leaving the residence. I walked up to the car, and the woman inside identified herself as Jordan Taylor. I asked for a few minutes of her time and brought up the lawsuit. She seemed rushed, but she did tell me her sister was in the hospital, and that’s where she was heading. What I got out of her was that the lawsuit against Cemcom was never officially filed. Apparently they had a retaining wall built that collapsed after a week of heavy rain. The claims specialist that came out on behalf of Cemcom told them they didn’t have a valid complaint against the company. He said they couldn’t sue for damages because of weather issues. It was just a freak accident.”