15 Signs Of Murder (Fifteen thrillers)

by Luis Samways

  ‘What’s wrong Mister?’ says the boy, still crying, still upset.

  ‘Nothing little man. Nothing at all. Where’s your parents?’

  The little kid turns around and points to a car in the distance. Steven can see the boy’s parents looking busy packing things into rucksacks.

  ‘Why are you crying?’ asks the little boy, rubbing his eyes red raw.

  ‘Someone I know died,’ says Steven.

  The boy’s eyes narrow as he spots the foot of Steven’s wife sticking out of the window of the toppled car behind Steven.

  ‘Is that the person?’ asks the little boy.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Steven.

  ‘My dog died. When our car crashed, he went flying out of the window. I loved Rex,’ says the boy.

  Steven looks behind the boy and sees a dog next to a tree. He then see’s the windshield of the families car and realises the boy is telling the truth. Suddenly he feels a little sadder, this time for the boy.

  ‘Daddy had to snap the dog’s neck. He was waddling around , yelping. Daddy said it was for the best. It made Mommy cry,’ he says.

  Steven remembers the sound. It was about the same time in which he was cradling his wife a few hours prior. He remembered the sound of the dog yelping being cancelled out by his own wallowing.

  ‘Who broke your wife’s neck to stop her yelping?’ asks the boy.

  Steven couldn’t help smiling, even if it was the wrong time.

  ‘No one. She died peacefully,’ he says.

  ‘Dad says I can have another dog someday. Will you get another wife?’

  Steven smiles again.

  ‘Probably not,’ he says.

  ‘Oh. Do you want to meet my mum and dad? Maybe they can help you find a new wife?’

  Steven nods his head.

  I’d love to meet your mum and dad. I’ll take you back to them, just wait a few minutes while I grab some things,’ he says.

  Fourteen

  Albany, New York

  Mrs Novik reaches the top of the escalator. She waits there for a few moments until Clare appears from the left escalator parallel to her. She waves her hand gesturing something. Mrs Novik had never been good at understanding such sign language and shrugs her shoulders.

  ‘Move forward,’ Clare whispers.

  ‘Okay’

  Both women move forward as quietly and silently as they can. The top part of the mall is a lot quieter than they had thought. They follow the instructions on the note that they had found on the man that Clare had shot. They turn right and come across a row of shops and boutiques. None of them seem to house anything of any particular use. Everything in the mall seems to have been scavenged and looted. It annoys Clare something rotten.

  ‘What the hell is up with this place. You would have thought that at least SOMETHING would have been left. It’s not like we are months into the end of the world, it’s only been a damn week!’ says Clare, her voice slightly raised.

  ‘Typical humanity I guess. I bet as soon as the shit hit the fan, people were looting like mad. It didn’t take much to cause a riot before the flashing Beacons, let alone after them,’ says Mrs Novik.

  ‘I hear you there,’ says Clare.

  Both women continue to walk down the row of shops. They peer into a few of the buildings and still see nothing of interest.

  ‘So no supplies?’ says Mrs Novik.

  ‘Looks that way,’ says Clare.

  ‘So what are we going to do?’

  ‘Well the note said something would be here, so we need to see what it is. Maybe the guy had a cache of supplies hidden. We need to check, we can’t leave anything behind.’

  Suddenly both women hear something in the distance. It sounds like someone crying. Clare puts her finger to her lips. Mrs Novik understands that sort of sign language. Her body tenses up as she reaches for her gun, so does Clare. By now both women have their guns drawn.

  ‘Where is it coming from?’ asks Mrs Novik.

  ‘Over their!’ she says, slightly louder than she would have liked.

  ‘Daddy?’ says the crying voice in the distance.

  ‘Shit, what was that?’ says Clare, her gun and torch trembling in her hand.

  Both women move closer towards the sound of crying in the distance. Clare grips her handgun tightly as the sweat drips off her hand. She can feel her heart beat in her chest. Could this be a set up? She has a feeling she’s seen something similar to this in a horror movie. The bad guys set a tape recorder to play in a dark parking lot, a mother lost her child and heard the crying, then she investigated and moved closer to the crying but was then axed to death by the killer. Could this be a re-enactment of that event? She hopes not.

  ‘Hello?’ says Mrs Novik.

  Clare quickly turns her head to give Mrs Novik a stern look.

  ‘It could be a kid,’ she says, trying to justify her actions.

  ‘It could be a set up,’ says Clare, still gripping her handgun.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You never know,’ says Clare.

  As they continue to walk down the row of shops they see a little girl approach them. She has blonde hair that looks like it hadn’t been washed in a while. Her face resembles a chimney sweeps as it is covered in dirt. Mrs Novik quickly holsters her gun, while Clare continues to point it at the little girl.

  ‘What the hell are you doing? It’s only a little girl Clare, put down your gun!’

  ‘Anyone else with you Missy?’ shouts Clare.

  The little girl rubs her eyes as the beam from the torch hits her face.

  ‘You alone?’ asks Clare, starting to sound impatient.

  ‘Where’s daddy?’ asks the girl.

  ‘ARE YOU ALONE?’

  ‘What the hell are you doing Clare?’

  Suddenly a gunshot is heard. Mrs Novik covers her ears and looks at Clare. Clare turns her head slightly. Some blood trickles out of her mouth. She collapses onto the floor. The gun in her hand clangs off the concrete and swivels around in circles for a moment. Everything seems to happen in slow motion as Mrs Novik darts her head forward and sees the little girl being scooped up by a man. The man grabs the girl and raises his gun. He aims it steadily in the direction of Mrs Novik.

  Fifteen

  The National Guard swarm the surrounding area as quickly as they got there. In a flash they had set up a command center. Within a few minutes the troops had been briefed. A couple of moments later the plan was being executed. The lights went on. They burnt at the spiders and insects on the wall. A spider’s web collapsed as the light penetrated through the window. A few men inside the building looked at each other in panic as they heard the PA system buzz on.

  ‘This is the National Guard of the United States of America. You are surrounded. We have reason to believe that you are in possession of weapons of mass destruction. You have five minutes to disarm your weapons or we will come in. Once we come in, we have the authority to shoot to kill. This is your first and final warning. If you do not comply, we will be forced to use aggressive tactics,’ says the voice on the loud speaker.

  Mr Conway is in his office pacing. He can hear the PA system from there. He starts to feel rattled. He starts to question himself. An advisor is next to him, drinking a glass of whisky.

  ‘Everything will be alright Sir. We wanted this to happen,’ says the advisor.

  ‘I don’t follow you. How did we want the National Guard finding out about our outpost? How did we want the National Guard finding our base?’

  ‘It’s all part of the plan Sir,’ says the advisor.

  ‘A plan that will get us killed none the less,’ says Mr Conway.

  He grabs the glass of whisky out of his advisor’s hand and swigs it in one gulp. He slams the glass down on the desk and pulls out a briefcase.

  ‘Key?’ he says.

  His advisor starts fishing around his pockets and pulls out a key card. He hands it over to Mr Conway. Mr Conway slots it into the case. The hinges on the case buckle and suck out. T
he lid flips open, revealing a small black box inside. Mr Conway grabs a key from his pocket and slots it into the black box. He turns the key clockwise. A red light flashes on the box. After a few seconds it goes green.

  ‘In five,’ says the advisor.

  ‘Got it,’ says Mr Conway.

  They wait four seconds.

  ‘One,’ says the Advisor.

  Mr Conway pushes the button. A small beeping sound goes off. The office starts to shake as if an earthquake is ripping through the base.

  The National Guard stationed outside start to move into position when the shaking ground startles them.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ says one of the soldiers to one of his fellow comrades.

  ‘Fuck, look over there,’ he says, pointing to an adjacent field.

  A herd of sheep are scattered across the field when a massive rocket comes flying out of an opening in the grass.

  ‘They fired the nuke, they fired the nuke!’ screams a soldier into his two way radio.

  The rocket launches into the air and in a matter of seconds it has disappeared from view.

  ‘I repeat, nuke has been fired!’

  Another rumble can be heard, and after a few seconds another rocket fires out of the opening in the grassy knoll followed by a cluster of smaller rockets that spiral up into the air.

  ‘Fuck, fuck! Another nuke has been fired! Shit, more rockets, more rockets! They keep coming, they just won’t stop! God help us, god help us all!’

  “There are two problems for our species' survival - nuclear war and environmental catastrophe - and we're hurtling towards them knowingly.”

  Noam Chomsky….

  “In nuclear war all men are cremated equal.”

  Dexter Gordon….

  Stranger

  At

  The Door

  Frank McKenzie Mysteries

  Luis Samways

  Text © 2014 by Luis Samways

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by The Purple Book Co.

  Luis Samways has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  EBook Edition first published in August 2014

  ******

  V1.0

  For more information on books by Luis Samways Visit:

  www.LuisSamways.com

  www.Twitter.com/LuisSamways

  © 2014 by the Purple Book Co.

  One

  The man got out of the car and waved his wife off with a playful smile. “It’s better if nobody knows we went out tonight,” he said.

  His wife, Mandy, sat behind the wheel of their brand-new Cadillac and shone back a full row of pearly white teeth. She was feeling playful as well. After all the intimacy problems they’d been having for the past six months, a little mischief and wonder was very much needed for the both of them.

  “Now, Mr. Governor, don’t ruin a perfect evening,” she said.

  The man stood out in the cold, looking down at his wife from the passenger’s window. He bent down and gave her a wink. He then wagged his long finger at her, half sticking it into the rolled-down window. “Mandy, I told you not to call me that. Nothing is finalized yet. I don’t know if you’re aware, but there tends to be a vote before anybody is given the position of governor.”

  “Don’t wag your finger at me, mister!” his wife returned, switching off the car’s engine and stepping out of it, high heels first, into a wet puddle. She looked over the roof of the car and gave her husband a look. It was a plain and simple one. It screamed AH, MY NEW SHOES!

  “Look what you’ve gone and done, Mr. Governor!” she said, making her way around the car and over to her finely dressed husband. He was looking around at their surroundings. It was a rough neighbourhood, and the motel they were standing in front of had hourly rates, but that was all part of their newfound exciting sex life. It contained a lot of seedy hotels and unused dives. It was all part of their therapist’s idea of “getting it to work again,” whatever that meant.

  “Look what you’ve gone and done,” his wife said, reaching him and putting her hand gently on his thigh. “You got me all wet,” she said, bursting out into a belly laugh that sounded like a squawking bird in the late night Boston air.

  “I’ll get you some new shoes,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about them, honey — I don’t mind getting wet and dirty once in a while,” she confessed, moving her hand from his thigh down to his crotch. She grabbed it and squeezed. It wasn’t the time or the place, but the soon-to-be governor was definitely ready to express his gratitude to his wife. She looked great in her little black dress. She wore extendable silk gloves that ran halfway up her arms. She had a single necklace on that looked delicate around her neck. Her fiery red hair waved in the wind.

  “The necklace,” he said, reaching for it. He held it firmly in his grip. “I gave that to you when we were younger,” he muttered under his breath.

  His wife stepped back a few feet, a look of dismay on her face.

  “Roger, I just grabbed your damn crotch, and all you can think of is my necklace? I’m afraid I’m going to have to reiterate how badly I want you inside me, so get moving or this date is over!” she said, half serious, half smiling.

  Mandy was a stunning woman who had a knack for getting her own way. The only person who didn’t respond to such traits was her husband, Roger. She loved him for that. That was why she had been with him for twenty-seven years. That’s why she was working on their marriage. Love, for her, was him. She forgave him for his past discrepancies. She understood that a man in power needs a thrill. She was just adamant that the next thrill her husband would be getting was from her, and not some stranger Roger decided to fornicate with.

  She forgave him, though. A man, after all, is only as perfect as the woman he is with. She understood her part in things. But she wasn’t there to dwell. She was there to have fun.

  “So come on, let’s do this!” she said, nearly “whooing” like an excited teenage girl on spring break.

  Roger broke into a sweat. He was nervous. He hadn’t been with his wife for a while. Not since the incident. But he was excited. She looked amazing. He was remembering why he married her in the first place. Besides her fabulous figure and a tremendous appetite for pleasure, she was his rock. He knew he had done wrong. And it was time to repay his debt to her. He had a long list of things he was planning to do that night, and neither of them involved one ounce of sleep.

  “Coming,” he said, wrapping his strong hands around her firm waist.

  The middle-aged gorgeous couple walked side by side into the seedy motel. Once the doors opened, neither of them would be the same again.

  Cue a night of fearsome make-up sex….and death.

  Two

  “You don’t actually think we have a chance this year, do ya?” Santiago said as he grabbed a betting slip from the rack in front of us.

  “Bruins always have a chance,” I said, watching my partner fill in the accumulators for me. I wasn’t one for getting my hands dirty. That was the tradition: I cough up the money, and San fills in the slips. We would split it whenever we won. That was the deal. Seems like a bad one on my part, seeing how Santiago never actually put any money in, but it wasn’t like we were betting big. It was always just twenty bucks. That’s my limit.

  “That’s crazy talk. Rangers look to be closing in on the gap. If they don’t win the Cup, then I’d be surprised if we even get to the playoffs,” Santiago mumbled as he filled out my picks.

  “That’s why they call it betting, San — you’re supposed to go AGAINST the feasible to attain the pot of gold!”

  Santiago chuckled as he put the pen down and handed me the slip.

  “No, you do it. That guy behind the counter doesn’t like me much,” I said.

  Sa
n nodded his head, as if he had already heard why.

  “Not many people like you, Frank. Hasn’t stopped you in the past.”

  “Something to do with me busting his nephew for slanging rock downtown,” I said, grabbing some cash from my pocket and handing it to the bronzed hand of my partner. He and I were opposites. He was tanned and good-looking. I was pale and rugged. The perfect mixture of diversity. It goes down well at the P.D. ball. Everyone loves an ethnic odd couple.

  We walked to the counter and buzzed the bell. A fat guy behind a pane of glass mumbled something under his breath as San slid the slip under the gap between us. The fat guy behind the counter nodded and gave us a ticket stub. In exchange, Santiago flicked a twenty under the gap.

  “He doesn’t think you like him,” Santiago bellowed rather loudly, pointing at me and pulling a face. The guy behind the counter frowned and shrugged unapologetically.

  “Well, at least he ain’t as stupid as he looks,” the fat guy said, turning his back on us and looking up at the small TV he had propped up on a shelf.

  “Well, that’s taken care of. How about we go and grab a bite to eat?” San said, punching me on the arm.

  “Yeah, why not? Hoagies, it is,” I said.

  Then the fun ended when my cell phone buzzed. I fished it out of my jacket pocket and put it to my ear.

  “Detective Frank McKenzie,” I said, looking at Santiago, who was rolling his eyes. We had just finished a sixteen-hour shift and were looking to wind down before hitting the sack. But a vibrating cell can mean only one thing.

  No sleep for us. Or fun, for that matter.

  “Hey, Frank. You still with Santiago?” the voice on the other end said. That voice belonged to my boss, Chief Shaw. He had a habit of asking rhetorical questions. Mostly it didn’t matter what I said, because he’d assume I’d already replied, even if I didn’t. “Good, I need you two to come in.” I hadn’t answered him. “Mayor ordered a briefing on the drug case you two were working on. Seems urgent — I wouldn’t keep the man waiting,” he said.