New York City Murders

by W. D. Frolick

  NEW YORK

  CITY

  MURDERS

  W.D. FROLICK

  Author: W.D. FROLICK

  Paperback ISBN 978-1-7751958-2-5

  eBook ISBN 978-1-7751958-3-2

  First Edition Copyright © 2019 by W.D. Frolick. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This novel is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental and are not intended by the author.

  PUBLISHED BY

  (www.wdfpublishing.com)

  DEDICATION

  New York City Murders is dedicated to the late Norman Ryan who passed away on April 1, 2019, at the young age of 74 after a courageous battle with cancer. Norm was an avid reader and a true gentleman. He was a devoted husband who will be sorrowfully missed by, Maxine, his loving wife of 49 years, his family, and his many friends. Norm, we will miss you and your infectious smile. Rest in peace, my friend!

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to sincerely thank my beta-readers for their dedication, comments, and suggestions after reading the final draft of New York City Murders.

  Beta-reader Janet Barradas said: “New York City Murders is a gripping page-turning thriller filled with murder, mystery, suspense, intrigue, and an unexpected ending. I envision the novel being made into a movie and becoming a New York Times bestseller. Bravo!

  Beta-reader Norm Ryan said: I started reading New York City Murders mid-afternoon and couldn’t put the book down until the story was finished after 1:00 a.m. W.D. Frolick’s best novel to date!

  Beta-reader Peggy McGrady said: Great story and a great ending. You are now committed to another Buck and Kristie novel. Their story needs to continue!

  To my editor Allister Thompson thanks once more for your outstanding work!

  To Jim Bisakowski at bookdesign.ca thank you for the excellent job in formatting my novel and for another professional cover design.

  Last, but not least, I’d like to thank my dear Rose for encouraging me to pursue my passion for writing. You never once complained about the many hours I’ve spent at my computer typing and re-typing my story. Love you!

  CHAPTER 1

  NYPD Homicide Detective Buck Woods was about to knock when he noticed the door was slightly ajar. The severed safety chain caused an alarm bell to sound in his head. He paused for a brief moment. Instinctively, Woods pulled out and racked his Glock. Holding the pistol with both hands, arms extended in front of him, he quietly nudged the door open and cautiously stepped into the foyer. He could see that the eat-in kitchen was neat and tidy and the adjoining living room looked normal. Nothing was out of place, and there was no sign of a struggle.

  “Dan, are you home?”

  No answer.

  He called out louder. “Hello. Dan, are you okay?”

  Silence.

  Across from the living room, Woods entered the bathroom. As expected, it was sparkling clean. He knew his tenant, Detective Dan Mason, was a neat freak. When he walked down the hallway and peered into the bedroom, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and a cold shiver snaked down his spine. With his pistol ready for action, Woods quickly surveyed the room. Satisfied no intruder was present, he guardedly approached the gruesome scene, where the gut-wrenching stench of death hung in the air like an invisible fog.

  The nude body of twenty-nine-year-old Detective Dan Mason lay on his back near the edge of the bed. Just over six feet tall, Mason had been a good-looking man. He didn’t look handsome now. There was a bullet hole in the center of his forehead and another in his chest indicating a professional hit. His unseeing brown eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. The pillow under Mason’s head was saturated in a pool of dried blood, and the bed sheet under his back looked similar. Gases in his tissues had formed large blisters on his white skin that had turned purplish-black. Mason’s body was stiff and bloated. It appeared that he had been dead for three or four days.

  Buck noticed that Mason’s pistol lay on the night table. Dan must have heard the intruder and threw the covers off in a futile attempt to reach for his gun.

  Glancing around the room, Woods didn’t see anything unusual. The dresser drawers were closed, indicating that the killer wasn’t looking for valuables. On the night table on the opposite side of the bed, he noticed a cell phone charger, but Mason’s cell phone was missing.

  If Dan were like most people, he would probably charge his phone while he slept. Did the killer take the cell phone? If so, why?

  As these thoughts raced through Buck’s head, on the carpet, about three feet from the bed, he spotted two shell casings. Why did the killer leave them? He was either in a hurry or stupid. Or maybe he didn’t give a damn.

  At most gruesome crime scenes, Buck’s weak stomach eventually got the better of him. Suddenly he felt nauseous. Bile crept into his throat, and he began to gag. Woods pulled out his handkerchief, placed it over his mouth, and dashed out of the room. In the hallway, he took a long deep breath and exhaled slowly. It took a few minutes of deep breathing for his stomach to settle. Buck pulled out his cell phone and punched in a speed dial number. Three rings later, he heard a familiar voice.

  “Good morning, Detective,” Captain Robertson said.

  “Good morning, Captain. Sorry, I didn’t make it in on time. I stopped by my condo to drop off some papers for my tenant, Detective Dan Mason. You won’t believe what I found.”

  “Let me take a wild guess. You found Detective Mason, and it’s not good.”

  “You’ve got that right. Dan’s dead. He’s been murdered.”

  After explaining the situation to his boss, Captain Shelia Robertson said, “You’d better stay and secure the crime scene. I’ll dispatch a CSU team. Your new partner, Kristie Karlsson, is in my office waiting to meet you. I’ll have an officer drive her over. This is her first assignment. Detective Karlsson passed the Detective Bureau’s Homicide Investigators and Interrogators courses with flying colors. I’m counting on you to take her under your wing, mentor her, and show her the ropes. Before I forget, Lieutenant Karl Kruger called. He said he’s been trying to reach Detective Mason for the past few days. He said Mason wasn’t answering his cell or home phone. Now we know why. I’d better update him on what happened to his detective. Knowing Kruger, he’ll want to join you. Keep me updated. Oh, and by the way, I was going to tell you when you came in, but I’ll tell you now. Effective immediately, you’ve been promoted to detective first-grade. Congratulations!”

  “Thank you, Captain. I appreciate it.”

  “It should have happened a long time ago, but with budget cuts and the usual red tape in getting anything approved around here, it was delayed longer than I had anticipated. You certainly have earned the promotion. You’ll be getting a substantial raise in pay as well.”

  Buck was trying to get his head around the unexpected promotion and the news that his new partner was a rookie. He hesitated before saying, “Thanks again, Captain. We’ll keep you updated. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye, Detective.”

  Since Buck had a key to his rented condo, he locked up and took the elevator down to the main floor lobby. While he waited in a comfortable highback chair, he thought about his new partner. Karlsson will be as green as an unripened tomato, but at least she won’t have developed any bad habits. I’ll do my best to mold her into a competent homicide detect
ive. That shouldn’t be too hard if she has half a brain in her head. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have to train a seasoned detective, but it could be hard to correct any bad habits he or she had acquired. I suppose the lesser of the evils appears to be the green tomato.

  Buck’s thoughts were interrupted when a squad car stopped out front. The passenger door opened, and an attractive woman got out. When she reached the entrance, Woods was there to open the door and to greet her.

  “Hey,” she said, extending her hand, “you must be Detective Woods.”

  “The one and only.” Buck grinned.

  “I’m your new partner, Detective Kristie Karlsson. Captain Robertson sent me to join you.”

  “Yeah. I know. I was expecting you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective.”

  After shaking hands, Karlsson said, “Please, if we’re going to be partners, call me Kristie.”

  “Okay, Kristie, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Call me Buck.”

  Woods liked what he saw. Detective Karlsson had a trim, athletic figure. She stood about five feet seven inches tall and looked to be in her late thirties. Kristie was a beautiful woman. She had high cheek-bones, a smooth complexion, sparkling blue eyes, and long, blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. Karlsson wore very little make-up and looked professional in a classy black pantsuit with a white silk blouse. Her gold shield was clipped to her belt.

  “I have a question,” Kristie said.

  “What is it?”

  “At my first interview with Captain Robertson, I noticed the name on her door read Captain S.M. Robertson. I’m curious, do you know what her initials stand for?

  Buck flashed an amused smile. “Her initials stand for Shelia Mariah.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. So let me get this straight. The captain’s first name is pronounced She-lie-ah. And her second name is Mariah like in Mariah Carey.”

  “That’s right.”

  “A very unusual first name. I’ve never heard that one before.”

  “Rumor has it her first name was a mistake. It was supposed to be Sheila. Apparently, someone screwed up when filling out the information for her birth certificate. They put the I after the L instead of in front of it. It was never corrected. Apparently, her parents liked the name.”

  “Shelia Mariah. It rhymes.”

  “Yeah, it does. I don’t think Captain Robertson likes it, so that’s why she uses her initials instead.”

  Kristie laughed and said, “Shelia Mariah. I guess I don’t blame her for using her initials.”

  “For your information, Captain Robertson prefers to be called Captain, not Cap or Boss.”

  “Good to know. I’ll remember that. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with the boss…I mean with the captain.” Kristie flashed a warm smile, and Buck’s heart skipped a beat. His whole body tingled. It was something he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.

  “I almost forgot. Congratulations on your promotion. The captain gave me this to give to you.” Kristie handed Woods an envelope.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Without opening it, Buck shoved the envelope into his suit jacket pocket.

  “So, did Captain Robertson fill you in on what this is all about?”

  “Yes, she did. I was disturbed to hear that an NYPD detective was murdered.”

  ”Did you know Detective Dan Mason?”

  “Not that I can recall. I don’t think we ever met.”

  “Dan was a great guy. I’ve known him for some years now. While I was away on sabbatical, I rented my condo to him. As per our agreement, I dropped by to give him written notice that I would be reoccupying my unit in sixty days. The door was ajar, and the safety chain had been cut. He didn’t answer when I called out, so I decided to check to see if he was all right. I found Mason’s body in the bedroom. It’s not a pretty sight. While we’re waiting for the Crime Scene Unit to arrive, why don’t we go check out the crime scene.”

  “Okay,” Kristie said, looking a little apprehensive.

  Trying to put her mind at ease, Buck said, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll do just fine. All your training will finally start to pay off.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  As they entered the bedroom, the stench of decomposing flesh greeted Kristie’s nostrils. She took one look at Mason’s body and began to retch. Cupping a hand over her mouth, she turned and ran into the hallway. Finding the bathroom, she headed straight to the toilet bowl and brought up her breakfast. She splashed cold water on her face, rinsed out her mouth, took several deep breaths, then reluctantly headed back to the bedroom.

  Looking a little sheepish, she said, “Sorry about that.”

  Buck smiled. Trying to make Kristie feel better, he said, “No need to apologize. I did the same thing when I viewed my first gruesome crime scene. There’s nothing to be sorry about. It still happens to me. In fact, it happened to me at this scene.”

  “That’s good to know. Sorry, that didn’t come out right.” Kristie’s face turned beet red. “What I mean is…it’s good to know I’m not alone.”

  Buck laughed. “In other words, misery loves company.”

  “Something like that…I guess.”

  Changing the subject, Buck said, “As detectives, our job is to observe the crime scene and to look for clues that might help us solve the case. Take a minute and look around, then tell me what you see.”

  After scanning the room, Kristie said, “We have a deceased Caucasian male. He has been shot twice. Once in the head and once in the chest.”

  “What else can you tell me about the body?”

  “Other than being shot, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “How long ago do you think the victim was murdered?”

  “Oh, I get it. Although I’m not an expert on decomposition, I’d say from the look of him Detective Mason’s been dead for several days.”

  “You’re on the right track. I’d guess that Mason’s been dead for three or four days.”

  “Oh, how do you know that?”

  “When you’ve seen as many dead bodies as I’ve seen and been given the time of death estimates by the ME, it gets implanted in your brain. It all boils down to experience on the job.”

  “I know I’ve got a lot to learn, but I’m a fast learner.”

  “Experience will be your best teacher. You’ll learn something new at each crime scene. Why would you say knowing the time of death is essential?”

  “It could help us find the killer. Especially if he or she was in the vicinity at the estimated time of the murder. Knowing the time of death could also eliminate other suspects who can prove they were not in the area when the victim died.”

  “Very good. What else do you see?”

  Glancing at the floor, Kristie said, “I see two shell casings about three feet from the bed.”

  “What else?”

  “The body is uncovered, and I see a pistol on the bedside table.”

  “Why do you think the body is uncovered?”

  “It looks like the victim heard the intruder, threw the covers aside to go for his gun, but was shot before he could grab it.”

  “That makes sense. What else?”

  “Nothing in the room looks to be disturbed. The dresser drawers are all closed. I don’t believe this was a robbery that went bad. It looks like the sole purpose of the unsub was to kill Detective Mason.”

  “Okay, that sounds logical. What else do you see?”

  “That’s about it. I don’t see anything else.”

  “Take a look at the far bedside table. What do you see?”

  “It looks like a charger for a cell phone.”

  “You’re right. What’s missing?”

  “There’s no cell phone attached.”

  “Bingo. Most peo
ple charge their cell phone while they sleep. I know I do.”

  “So do I.”

  “Where do you think Detective Mason’s cell phone is?”

  “That’s a good question. I don’t know…unless…unless the killer took it.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Maybe…maybe there was something on Mason’s phone that he wanted.”

  “What could that be?”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  “Neither do I. That’s what we’ll have to try to find out. Good job, Detective!”

  “Thank you.” Kristie beamed.

  “Let’s go back to the lobby and wait for the CSU team to arrive. I expect Dan’s boss, Lieutenant Karl Kruger, will be here soon.”

  While they waited in the sun-drenched lobby making small talk, a black unmarked police car stopped at the front entrance. Lieutenant Karl Kruger got out, buttoned his suit jacket, straightened his tie, and headed toward the door. Buck went to greet him.

  Kruger, a handsome man in his late forties, was a few years older than Buck. He wore a tailored-made Armani navy blue suit, a red silk tie, and highly polished black Gucci loafers. Kruger still had a full head of light brown hair cropped short. He had piercing blue eyes, a square jaw, and his teeth gleamed when he smiled. Kruger still appeared to be in good physical condition despite being chained to a desk most days.

  Some years ago, when Buck was promoted from a patrol officer, he landed in the 52nd Precinct narcotics unit. He was assigned to work under Detective Kruger’s mentorship. After Buck had moved on to the homicide unit, Kruger was promoted to the rank of lieutenant and head of the narcotics division at the 40th Precinct. A lot of water had passed under the bridge since then. Kruger wasn’t Buck’s favorite person, but he did his best to tolerate the man.

  “Good to see you again, Buckley. It’s been a while.”

  Buck hated when anyone called him Buckley. The name reminded him of that awful-tasting cough medicine his mother gave him when he was a kid. Although he had been christened Buckley John, he preferred Buck or B.J.