by Jacob Stone
“The latest insanity concerning Sheila Proops,” Griffin said.
She stared at him blankly, not making a connection with that name. He smiled inwardly at her reaction. That was the thing with these Seattle slackers and hipsters. They were so insular. If it didn’t have anything to do with their local scene, they had little interest.
“I’m reading about how they’re not going to prosecute her for any of the Skull Cracker killings.”
Her eyes scrunched up as she gave him more of a confused look. “That happened in Los Angeles?” she asked.
“And in New York five years before.”
“But I thought they caught the psycho who did those murders?”
Griffin could’ve explained that the guy they arrested was Sheila Proops’s husband, and while they had him dead to rights for the Los Angeles killings, anyone who’d been following the story carefully knew that Sheila had to be the one who killed the twelve people in New York. The problem the authorities had was the dumb slob husband took the blame for all the killings, and that they couldn’t find enough evidence to charge Sheila. So she was going to skate on twelve murders that anyone with half a brain knew she had done. But Griffin didn’t bother saying any of that to the girl. Instead, he smiled wickedly at her and told her that he thought she was cute as hell. “What time do you get off work?” he asked.
That caused her to blush even deeper than before, leaving her cheeks almost the same red as her hair. “Three o’clock.” It was only nine-thirty and a hint of impatience and disappointment showed in her eyes. She moved closer so she could tell him slyly, “But if I put on a good enough act that I’m coming down with something, maybe I’ll be able to cut out earlier.”
She winked at him as she faked a faint cough.
Griffin held out his hand to her. “Trent,” he said. He’d been using the name Trent Regan since coming to Seattle nine months earlier.
“Zoe,” the redhead said. Her small, slender right hand disappeared quickly into Griffin’s. He couldn’t help noticing how warm her flesh felt. A thought struck him. A thought so deep and profound that it startled him and had him almost laughing out loud.
“Is something wrong?” Zoe asked, concerned.
Griffin recovered quickly and flashed her a wolfish grin. “The feel of your skin took my breath away,” he said.
That caused her to blush even deeper, her cheeks now blood red.
The manager of the coffee house, a heavyset thirty-something dude with a buzz cut, neck tattoos, and a dozen face piercings, must’ve had the hots for this redhead given the way his voice sounded as he called out from behind the counter that he needed her to take over at the cash register. Zoe’s cheeks blew up like a chipmunk’s showing her annoyance at the way her boss had intruded on their moment. Griffin shrugged in a what-are-you-gonna-do kind of gesture, and he watched as she reluctantly left him. Then he settled back in his chair and took a sip of his latte and thought more about the delicious idea he’d had. That he was going to kill Sheila Proops.
Ever since arriving in Seattle, he’d been drifting aimlessly, wallowing in a low-grade depression, his mood more often than not matching the weather of this dreary city. He worked day jobs here and there, and supplemented his income by ripping off the women he slept with, almost always tourists. There was no shortage of women coming to Seattle on vacation or for business who’d spot him in a coffee house, bar, or nightclub, and let him know that they wanted to hook up with him for the night. But he’d never really gotten much satisfaction from the sex part of it, and had badly fallen into a rut since coming here, not killing a single person. There just no longer seemed any point to it. But as he thought about snuffing out Sheila Proops’s life, he felt inspired, truly, the desire that had been absent for so many months once again burning deep inside him. He could feel his true self that had been missing for almost a year coming to the fore. The phoenix reborn.
As Griffin imagined all the things he was going to do to Sheila Proops, he found himself growing rock-hard between his legs. He was going to take his time with her, that he knew for certain. And she was going to deserve every single torment that he inflicted on her. While he was able to kill thirty-nine people in the shadows without anyone suspecting it (well, really thirty-eight, since he wasn’t even a teenager when he killed his first victim, and there were certainly some who suspected him for that one—but he was so young at the time, and he more than learned his lesson since then!), this twisted broad only murdered twelve people, but she had to do so in a way that screamed out for attention! Why? For the notoriety? Griffin’s jaw clenched and his lips hardened to thin, bloodless lines as he thought about it. It was infuriating, it really was. Yeah, she deserved everything that he was going to do to her.
He was so caught up in his thoughts that he only half noticed the blonde woman who placed a business card on his table before sashaying past him on her way out of the shop. He looked up to see the door closing behind her. A few seconds later he caught a glimpse of her through the front window. She turned briefly to look his way and give him an impish smile, and then she was gone. He remembered her from when he had first come into the place. Professionally attired in a gray skirt that fell past her knees, a white blouse, and high heels. She’d been sitting alone at a table diagonally across from him. While he hadn’t taken the time to study her, he had the impression that she was roughly his age (thirty-two), very attractive, and had long, slender legs. She had been so tunnel-focused on her laptop computer that he didn’t think she had noticed him.
He picked up her business card and read what she had scribbled on the back of it:
My meeting lets up at 1. You don’t have to wait until three—Claire
He smiled as he sniffed the card and picked up the lilac scent of her perfume. After so many months lost in the wilderness, he deserved a treat. A going away present. But which was it going to be? The willowy blonde with the long, slender legs or the petite fresh-faced redhead? Decisions, decisions. He would have to flip a coin.
Chapter Two
Los Angeles, the present
Parker, an all-white bull terrier with the exception of a small black smudge on his left ear and a slightly larger smudge on his tail, lay on his side on the kitchen floor by Morris Brick’s feet, one eye open, his ears perked up. Morris noted between bites of oatmeal that the dog did not look happy. He couldn’t blame him. Three weeks ago Morris had switched to eating a healthier breakfast, which meant no bacon, sausage, or scrambled eggs to mooch. Morris used the big toe on his right foot to rub the dog’s chest. Parker consented to half-heartedly thumping his tail once.
“You’re going to hold a grudge, huh?” Morris said.
Parker’s open eye shifted to peek at Morris, but otherwise no reaction. All at once he lifted his bullet-shaped head, and his tail began thumping more enthusiastically.
“Buon giorno,” Natalie announced cheerfully as she entered the kitchen. Parker’s tail thumped against the floor more rapidly and he let out one of his piglike grunts. Natalie gave Morris a quick kiss, then dropped to a knee so she could hug the dog around his thick neck.
“You’d never guess by the way he’s acting now, but he’s been sulking ever since we got back from his walk. B-a-c-o-n withdrawals.”
“You gave him a can of his f-o-o-d?”
“Of course.”
“That should be enough for him.”
“You can be a cruel woman, Nat.”
She smiled at that. “But just.”
“No question. I’ve got more oatmeal warming on the stove. Would you like some? With a sliced banana and cinnamon?”
“That would be lovely.”
Natalie kissed Parker on the snout and took a seat at the table while Morris got her breakfast.
“Grazie.” Natalie flashed him a dazzling smile. After twenty-four years of marriage, she could still bring a lump to his throat and make him weak in the knees. He was a lucky man, no question about it. His wife was still the same slender, dark-haire
d beauty he’d fallen in love with all those years ago, while he has always been a funny-looking guy with big ears, thick, long nose, spindly legs and a short, compact body. The type of guy who should own a bull terrier. People had to wonder how they ever ended up together, but the answer was simple. He got lucky when she somehow fell in love with him also.
Morris finished his breakfast, his spoon scraping the bowl. He wondered briefly how the oatmeal would taste with crumbled up bacon mixed in, but he forced the thought out of his mind. He smiled thinly, thinking how Parker must be sending him psychic messages.
“I’ll get coffee started,” he offered as he took his bowl and spoon to the sink.
“It’s nice getting a later start today,” Natalie said.
It was almost ten and usually they were both out of the house by seven; Natalie, so she could see clients at her private office where she worked as a therapist, and Morris so he could run Morris Brick Investigations, more commonly known as MBI. But since Natalie had her eight o’clock and nine-thirty appointments cancel on her, and since operations at MBI were running smoothly and Morris didn’t have anything scheduled until one, they’d decided to take it easy this morning, which was a luxury for both of them.
Natalie waited until Morris brought the coffee to the table before commenting on how in nine days they would be jetting off to Rome. While it was ostensibly a statement, it was really a probing question. Was he as excited about their upcoming vacation as she was? Morris hesitated just enough before nodding to give away that he had concerns.
“This will be our first real vacation in years,” Natalie said. “Two weeks in Italy. Rome, Sorrento, Florence, Venice, and Milan. This will be a dream for us, Morris. You’ll love it as much as I will. I promise.”
Morris forced a smile. Nat was right, of course. Outside of a four-day trip upstate to wine country they hadn’t been on a vacation in years. Nat was also being kind in not mentioning that this would make up for the honeymoon they’d never had. Back when they had married, he was a rookie on the force, busting his ass to make something of himself. A year later they had Rachel, and money became too scarce to go on any sort of extended vacation. After Morris was promoted to detective they started saving some money, but whenever they’d plan a big vacation Morris would get caught up in a case and they’d have to cancel their trip. In fact, they had this very same trip planned three years ago when the Hillside Cannibal case broke, and by the time Morris caught up to the twisted monster, Vincent Robusto, who murdered and ate the internal organs of his eleven victims, they were in no shape to go anywhere. Then a year and a half ago Morris retired from the force and started MBI, and with all the hours he was putting in to get his fledgling firm off the ground, any sort of vacation seemed impossible. But now things were humming along nicely at MBI, and Natalie convinced him the place wouldn’t collapse if he was gone for two weeks. That they could finally go on the trip that they’d been waiting twenty-four years to take.
“MBI will still be standing when we get back,” Natalie said. “You’ll be leaving it in good hands with Charlie Bogle. Now maybe if you’d picked Polk to run the place while you were gone, you’d have something to worry about!”
“I’m not really worried about MBI,” Morris conceded. “More about leaving this little guy for two weeks. He’s mad enough at me as it is for the current b-a-c-o-n situation.”
“Parker will be fine. More than fine. Rachel will be spoiling him rotten. Like daughter, like dad.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve been tough as nails with the little guy. I barely let him mooch anything from me these days.”
“Ha! I bet you’ve been thinking of frying up b-a-c-o-n and crumbling it into your oatmeal just so you’d have an excuse to give him some each morning.”
Morris made a harrumphing noise. “The thought never crossed my mind,” he insisted. His expression softened. “And Nat, I really am looking forward to Italy.”
“Good.” She hesitated before adding, “And you’ll be careful with the cases you take?”
“I promise. Nothing that will make me cancel this trip.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JACOB STONE is the byline chosen by Dave Zeltserman, an award-winning author of crime, mystery, and horror fiction, for his new thriller series featuring serial-killer expert Morris Brick. His crime novels Small Crimes and Pariah were both named by the Washington Post as best books of the year, with Small Crimes also topping National Public Radio’s list of best crime and mystery novels of 2008.
His horror novel The Caretaker of the Lorne Field was shortlisted by the American Library Association for best horror novel of 2010, a Black Quill nominee for best dark genre book, and a Library Journal horror gem.
His Frankenstein retelling, Monster, was named by Booklist as one of the ten best horror novels of the year and by WBUR as one of the best novels of the year.
His mystery fiction is regularly published by Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, has won Shamus and Derringer awards, and has twice won the Ellery Queen Readers Choice Award.
Dave’s novels have been translated into German, French, Italian, Dutch, Lithuanian, and Thai. His novels Outsourced, Small Crimes, and The Caretaker of Lorne Field have been optioned for film and are currently in development.
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