by C. M. Sutter
Captive
by
C. M. Sutter
Copyright © 2016
All Rights Reserved
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction by C.M. Sutter. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used solely for entertainment. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C.M. Sutter is a crime fiction writer who resides in the Midwest, although she is originally from California.
She is a member of numerous writers’ organizations, including Fiction for All, Fiction Factor, and Writers etc.
In addition to writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and dog. She is an art enthusiast and loves to create handmade objects. Gardening, hiking, bicycling, and traveling are a few of her favorite pastimes. Be the first to be notified of new releases and promotions at: http://cmsutter.com.
C.M. Sutter
http://cmsutter.com/
Captive: A Detective Jade Monroe Crime Thriller, Book 2
A body, wrapped in plastic, is discovered in a ditch along a secluded country road. Detective Jade Monroe, and her partner, Jack Steele, arrive at the scene in minutes. Suspicious looking evidence gives the impression that this young woman has been held captive.
As days pass, more local women vanish without a trace. Jade and her team of detectives fear the worst.
With precious time slipping away, Jade needs to pull out all stops to find this perpetrator, even if that means putting herself directly in harm’s way.
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Table of Contents
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 1
They sat around the fire pit they’d built behind the farmhouse. Ten large fieldstones placed side by side created a perfect ring for the blaze. Fireflies flitted in the distance, causing the field beyond them to come alive and twinkle. A half dozen empty beer cans lay at their feet, some smashed and others saved. The brothers talked quietly and planned their next move. The fire mesmerized them—it was soothing and warm against their skin. Jeremy poked at the logs with a stick, causing sparks to crackle and float up into the night sky, where stars hung like diamonds suspended on invisible strings. In the distance, a frog croaked from the pond at the back of the property. Serenity blanketed the night until a woman’s screams for help broke the silence.
Matt’s eyes darted across the fire pit, waiting for a reaction. Of the two, Jeremy had the more volatile personality. He was the oldest and had shouldered the responsibility of protecting his brother during their years with an abusive father and then, later, with an absentee mother.
Matt spoke first. “This farm was a good choice—no neighbors for miles.”
“I’ve told her a million times to shut the hell up. I can’t stand that screeching anymore—she’s got to go.” Jeremy stood and shoved back the cheap aluminum and plastic webbed lawn chair. It fell over and folded up. He stormed toward the house. “We haven’t had any luck with her anyway.”
Matt followed on his brother’s heels.
The heavy thud of Jeremy’s work boots hitting each step echoed off the cement walls as he descended the wooden staircase from the kitchen to the basement. The steps protested, creaking and groaning with age. He flicked on the light and disappeared around the corner. A wooden dry sink stood against a primitive jelly cupboard. Those antique essentials were likely as old as the farmhouse itself and probably held years of canned goods back in the day. Jeremy sorted through the supplies he retrieved from the upper glass doors of the cupboard. He set what he needed on the dry sink, then he poked the tip of the needle through the rubber stopper and into the vial. He drew back the plunger and filled the barrel. Looking with approval at the quantity of liquid inside, Jeremy put the protective cover back on the needle’s tip and dropped the syringe into his front pocket. He turned the corner and headed to her cage. The other three women cowered at the back of their confinements. They pulled their knees up against their chests and made themselves look as small as possible, clearly hoping to go unnoticed.
Jeremy jerked his chin toward Matt. “Hold the syringe.”
Matt pushed off the cracked cement wall where he stood and did as told.
Reanne screamed and kicked the sides of the cage, trying to stay out of Jeremy’s grasp as he approached. He stopped and quickly glanced around the room, spotting exactly what he needed propped against the wall. He reached for it and grinned. In two strides, he was at her cage and jammed the cattle prod between the chain-link openings. He zapped her twice, hard and long. She squealed, grunted, and fell back—stunned and moaning.
“Open the gate.”
Matt pulled the key ring off the nail on the wall and pushed the brass-colored key into the padlock. He gave the key a turn, unlatched the padlock, and pulled the gate open. Jeremy grabbed the nearly unconscious Reanne by her legs and yanked her out.
“Give me the syringe.” He turned toward Matt and reached for it.
Jeremy held the syringe’s end between his teeth and pulled the protective cover off. He knelt by Reanne’s side and sank the needle into her carotid artery. She lay motionless within seconds.
“There, that should do it. Go on upstairs, bro. I got this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, she won’t give us any more trouble.”
Jeremy waited until he heard the upstairs door close before continuing. He had filled the syringe of Xylazine with far more than he needed to knock Reanne out. Chances were she
was already dead. He turned his head and gave a warning glare to the rest of the caged women.
“There, now you can sleep, and I don’t want to hear a peep from any of you.”
Jeremy grabbed Reanne’s lifeless arms and pulled her around the corner to the bathroom. He turned the bathtub’s faucet to the hottest setting and waited. When the temperature was perfect—a scalding hot, sending steam to the room’s ceiling—he closed the drain, stripped off her clothing, and rolled her into the tub. Her body scorched a brilliant red while he stared at her, watching for movement. When he saw none, he shrugged with satisfaction and walked out. Back around the corner, at the bottom doors of the jelly cupboard, he pulled out everything else he needed. Two bottles of bleach, rubber gloves, a roll of duct tape, and a plastic tarp were jammed under, and in, his arms and hands. He scowled at the other women when he heard someone whimper.
“Don’t try my patience.”
Jeremy returned to the bathroom and cracked the seal of the first bottle of bleach. He tipped the gallon bottle and emptied it over Reanne while she lay in the hot water. He left her like that for a few minutes—stewing in the scalding bleach water. He folded back the sleeve of his yellow rubber glove and checked the time.
“Another minute should do it.”
There was a method to Jeremy’s madness, and his routine was always the same. He didn’t vary from the process that seemed to work well for him. The women he killed never had evidence left on their bodies; the bleach destroyed all of that. He looked at his watch again.
“Here we go.”
He twisted the lid on the second bottle of bleach until the plastic seal cracked open with a turn of his wrist. He lifted the foil tab and threw it in the trash can. Jeremy sat on the edge of the bathtub and poured most of the bleach over her head. He stared at her for a moment then lifted the chain attached to the drain plug. The water ran toward the drain and swirled down the hole like a small, forceful cyclone. He watched Reanne’s chest—it didn’t rise and fall. To make sure she was dead, he poured the remaining bleach from the second bottle down her throat—no gurgling or sputtering sounds.
“Good to go. That should quiet things down around here.”
With each corner of the tarp grasped between his fingers, he gave it a quick flick and draped it across the bathroom floor. His rubber gloves helped hold her firmly as he pulled Reanne’s slippery body out of the tub and dropped her onto the tarp. He rolled her tightly in the plastic and secured it with duct tape. With a heave, he tossed Reanne’s lifeless body over his shoulder then exited the basement through the cellar doors that led upward and outside to the driveway. He shouldered the double wooden doors open and walked out into the dark night.
The flicker of the porch light caught Jeremy’s attention as he dropped Reanne into the back of the van. He slammed the doors closed and looked back in time to see the living room curtains flutter. He knew Matt was watching.
Chapter 2
Here at the sheriff’s department, we were still getting over our nightmare with Doug, the medical examiner, which had ended just two months ago. He was a sick man with demons that had plagued him for decades. None of us were aware of it until the end, when he was beyond help. Everyone had tried to make sense of it, but it was impossible. We later realized he had been sick for most of his life. The DNA results had confirmed that the bones we found in his basement, hidden behind a wall, belonged to his mother. He had murdered her years prior, and she was possibly his first victim.
Doug had harmed my sister, Amber, and since her physical wounds had healed, I hoped her emotional ones had too. With that incident as a reminder of the dangerous people in all walks of life, and her determination, Amber would go forward with her goal of becoming an FBI profiler. I was certain she’d get there in record time. She had returned to work at Joey’s restaurant part-time for now. With school out for the summer, she wanted to relax, plant flowers, and enjoy our beautiful new condo in Ashbury Woods.
Daily life at the sheriff’s department was getting back to normal too, and we were moving forward with renewed optimism. Speeding tickets, domestic disturbances, fender benders, and closing out the solved cases filled the days for our deputies and us detectives in the bull pen. Nobody complained, and I was thankful.
“Did you hear about the interviews for chief ME?” I asked as I pushed back my roller chair and walked to the coffee station. Jack appeared to be deep in paperwork. His desk was cluttered with file folders.
“Huh? Um, hang on. Okay, what did you say?” He closed a folder, looked up, and gave me his attention.
“I said, today two people are going to interview for it. Of course, Jason would love to lead, but he doesn’t have enough experience under his belt to be the chief ME yet.”
“No, but that’s cool. Where are the people from?”
“I guess one is a woman from Indianapolis, and the other is a guy from Newark.”
“I hope the guy gets it.”
I gave Jack a scowl and filled my coffee cup. I made sure to walk past him without offering to fill his cup as I returned to my desk.
“Are you being a male chauvinistic pig?” I chuckled at my own quick wit.
“That was sort of funny, but no, it’s just that Newark is at the bottom of my favorite cities list. I feel for the guy—that’s all.”
“Well, let’s see if either of them gets it. So far, the quiet and the lack of bodies in the morgue have been nice.” I got back up and filled Jack’s cup anyway. He grinned at me.
Clayton entered the bull pen in a huff at eight thirty. “Heads up, guys, we have to go.”
“Why?” I pushed back my chair, stood, and then secured my shoulder holster. I could tell by Clayton’s demeanor something bad had taken place.
“There’s a DB in a ditch just north of Highway 60 on Wayfair Road. A motorist in a high-rise truck called it in. He said he saw something odd and got out to take a look. He realized it was a body when he got close enough.”
I stared at Clayton. “What does that mean? Wouldn’t you just know it’s a person?”
“I guess it’s wrapped in plastic, rather suspicious in nature,” Clayton said. He rubbed his brow, and anxiety covered his face.
I could read his mind, and I groaned in agreement. “Sounds like another body dump. Wayfair Road is on the county line. It’s ours for sure?”
He nodded. “Apparently. All I know is the guy called it in to 9-1-1, and they forwarded it to us. Guess it’s on our side of the road. Jan just got the call.”
Lieutenant Clark opened his office door and craned his neck out. “What’s going on?”
“DB in a ditch out near the county line—suspicious circumstances, boss. We’re on our way.”
Clark scratched his chin and heaved a sigh. “I hope there isn’t more to follow. I think this county has had its fair share for a while. Get Jason, Kyle, and Dan out there. Tell them to get a move on and keep me posted.”
“Will do, Lieutenant,” I said.
Jack and I took a final gulp of our coffees and headed out. Clayton said he’d run downstairs and give the location to Jason, Kyle, and Dan. He and Billings would be a few minutes behind us.
I grabbed a set of keys, and we left the building. Outside, I clicked the fob, and the lights flashed on the first unmarked cruiser in the lot. I walked around to the driver’s side and slid in. It was my turn to drive. Jack opened the passenger door, got in, and fastened his seat belt.
Wayfair Road and Highway 60 fell right at the county line between Washburn and Wausaukee counties. The road literally divided the counties—Washburn extending west from there and Wausaukee heading east, ending at Lake Michigan. If the body was lying in the ditch on the west side of the road, it was our jurisdiction. The east belonged to Wausaukee County. From the sound of things and the call coming into dispatch, I already knew the case was ours.
The radio in the car squawked. Tim Donnelly, one of our daytime patrol deputies, was at the scene with the motorist that called it in. Dispa
tch forwarded the call.
“Yeah, Donnelly, what do you have?” Jack asked as I drove.
“DB, for sure, wrapped in a plastic tarp. I can only see the top of the head, probably a female. Looks like long brown hair. I don’t want to touch anything, so that’s all I really have, Jack. Also, there’s dew on the plastic, so I’m assuming she’s been out here all night.”
Jack glanced at me and raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “Good observation, Donnelly. Okay, get a statement from the motorist. We’re fifteen minutes out.” Jack clicked off the radio. “A body wrapped in plastic and dumped in plain sight—that’s odd. There are plenty of secluded spots around here. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
I smirked. “Just when I thought life was getting back to normal.”
We reached the intersection where Wayfair Road headed north off the highway. I clicked my left-turn blinker and waited until the approaching line of cars had passed. It seemed that every oncoming car was spaced just right so there wasn’t enough time to scoot across between them. I’d have to wait for all of them to go by. After the fifth car, I turned left off Highway 60. According to Donnelly, the body was about three miles up. Wayfair Road was the typical narrow road out in farm country, void of a shoulder save a small strip of gravel. Someone had one of two reasons to be driving on it; either they were lost or they lived back there.
I pulled up behind Donnelly’s cruiser and parked, then I grabbed my sunglasses off the dashboard and slipped them on before exiting the car. The sun was bright and harsh, and I wanted to see the body and the motorist up close and personal without squinting.
The man standing with Donnelly next to his cruiser looked like the average farmer that lived in this neck of the woods. I gave him the once-over. He wore a sweat-and-grime-stained baseball cap, carpenter jeans, and a plain green T-shirt. I checked his shoes—dirty work boots. His cheeks had a red, chafed appearance. Too much outdoors, I imagined. His neck was as thick as my thigh. The blue pickup truck parked along the side of the road was definitely lifted, with oversized tires and a raised suspension. Running boards lined each side.