Harry Bronson Box Set
Page 1
What Readers Are Saying . . .
About What Lies Beyond the Fence
Book 4 in the Bronson Series
Overall a very good read. Good catchy opening. Lots of suspense and good character development. Possibly the best Bronson book in the series.
Richard Schwein
FBI Special Agent in Charge, retired
Author of the Ben Douglas Series
The story line is really, really good. I never saw the end coming. The book had me rushing through it on pins and needles! Excellent. Definitely worth my reading time.
Elizabeth Speed
Texas
What Lies Beyond the Fence is a very engaging book. The details took me to places far and beyond the written word. Hayden is certainly skillful at weaving, and intertwining the characters into a very suspenseful plot, or was that plots? She is a gifted writer that kept me wanting to continue reading into the wee hours of the night. I highly recommend this fabulous book.
Jean Addis
North Carolina
About the Harry Bronson Series:
When the Past Haunts You, When Death Intervenes, Why Casey Had to Die, others
I absolutely fell in love with Harry Bronson. I’m in a book club and we all love the Bronson Series so very much. Thank you for writing these books.
Trinity Barnett
Pennsylvania
Settle into a comfortable reading chair and prepare for plot twists and surprises!
Molly Weston
Meritorious Mysteries
About Secrets of the Tunnels
Secrets of the Tunnels is a terrific book. I love everything Hayden writes.
Shan Giraud
Texas
About the Aimee Brent Series:
Vengeance in My Heart, ILL Conceived
The series is full of colorful characters you’ll remember. It’s a smorgasbord of suspense, with a good dollop of romance.
Valerie Stocking
New Mexico
About the Miracle and Angels Series:
Angels and Miracles Abound, Angels Around Us, When Angels Touch You
The series sucked me in right from the start and left me in a perpetual state of goose bumps. . . . The writing is beautiful. I marvel at the smoothness of the transitions.
Kathleen Chalmers
About the Children’s Picture Books
Puppy Dog and His Bone, What Am I? What Am I?
The pictures are sooooo cute . . . my little brother’s favorite . . . Big hit!
Amazon Reviews
List of L. C. Hayden’s books
Harry Bronson Mystery Series
What Lies Beyond the Fence
When the Past Haunts You
When Death Intervenes
Why Casey Had to Die
Novels featuring Harry Bronson
What Others Know (Part 2)
When Colette Died (Part 1) (Bronson not featured)
Where Secrets Lie
Who’s Susan?
End of the Road, a Bronson Short Story
Aimee Brent Mystery Series
Vengeance in my Heart
ILL Conceived
Inspirational
Nonfiction:
Angels and Miracles Abound
Angels Around Us
When Angels Touch You
Fiction:
Bell-Shaped Flowers
Children’s picture books:
Puppy Dog and His Bone
What Am I? What Am I?
Paranormal
The Drums of Gerald Hurd
Writing Advice
Help! I Want to Write
Contributed to
We’d Rather Be Writing (a cookbook)
A Second Helping of Murder (a cookbook)
Haunted Highways (collection of haunted places in Texas)
Edited and compiled
Breaking & Entering: The Road to Success (a Sisters in Crime how-to guide)
Random Thoughts, a Collection of Writings (by senior citizens)
When Bronson and Darkness Collide
Copyright 2017
by
L. C. Hayden
Angel’s Trumpet Press
Cover Design by Nathan Dasco
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved. No part of these books may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electrical or mechanical, including photography, recording, or by any information or retrieval system without written permission of the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in reviews.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to a real person, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Dedication
Why Casey Had to Die:
To “Gene” and Kathy Porter
and
Dan and Linda Horton
And a special dedication to
Mama Myers
When Death Intervenes:
To Joe, Sarah, and Marius Amaro
When the Past Haunts You
To Bobbye and Howard Johnson
and
to the memory of
Mike Hoover
January 24, 1947 – May 23, 2010
Acknowledgements
Lots of kudos goes to the people who honored me by allowing me to use their names and to the folks who are behind the scenes: first readers, proofreaders, editors, and reviewers. I also bow down to the people who helped me with the research and answered my millions of questions.
Last, but not least, a million thanks goes to all my readers. Without you, I wouldn’t have a reason to write. I appreciate your support and loyalty. I couldn’t make it without you. I love hearing from you. Contact me through my website at www.lchayden.com. While you’re there, sign up to receive my newsletter.
If you’re not my Facebook friend, befriend me at https://www.facebook.com/lc.hayden.3 and like my Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/MysteriesbyHayden/?fref=ts.
As always, a very special thanks to my husband, Richard Hayden, who supports me by driving me everywhere, creating and maintaining my website, and always being there for me. When Bronson has a decision to make or he encounters a problem, I turn to Rich and we talk it through. Thank you, hon, for being you.
He’s also the one who donates a lot of his time to formatting my books. Thanks for a super job well done.
Table of Contents
Why Casey Had to Die
When Death Intervenes
When The Past Haunts You
Why Casey Had to Die
A Harry Bronson Mystery/Thriller
by
L. C. Hayden
Chapter One
Sam slammed the newspaper down and threw the beer against the wall. It splattered like a splotchy starburst.
So Bronson was retiring. The famous Harry Bronson.
Dallas’ finest.
He would now live a life of leisure and peace.
Not likely, not if Sam could help it. After all, Bronson had ruined Sam’s life, and for that, Bronson would pay. Sam leaned back and thought of the plan that had been formulating for over a year. Now, finally, it could be executed.
Sam smiled.
* * * * *
Ever since his retirement, it had been Harry Bronson’s job to retrieve the mail. No big thing, mailbox right at the edge of his property line. But the P.O. Box—that was a different story. Six blocks away and Bronson hated to drive. So he chose to walk which he considered to be an excellent form of exercise. After all, Bronson was in his fifties, and he knew walking was good for him. But walking just to pick up the mail didn’t entice him. What did appeal to him was its location. The building that stood next to the post off
ice was a coffee shop—a Ma and Pa type place where they knew how to make a good cup of coffee. Just thinking about the rich coffee bean smell caused Bronson to increase his pace.
That’s one of the things Bronson missed most about retiring. Not too many places to get a good cup of coffee. His wife Carol—a real good woman, been married now thirty-four years—still couldn’t make a good cup of coffee.
Sad, but true.
Bronson retrieved the key from his pocket, opened the mailbox and stared at it. Had someone sent one more envelope, the post office would have fined him for littering. He really should pick up his mail more often, or better yet, cancel this P. O. thing. Now that he no longer worked for the Dallas police department. . .
Bronson scooped all the mail, placed it in the bag he had specifically brought for this purpose, and then hurried next door. He ordered a cup of Jamaican-me-crazy coffee, sat down at one of the tables, and emptied the bag.
Just as he had expected. Lots of junk mail, lots of bills. Nothing ever good.
Then he saw it. An envelope addressed to him similar to the one he had received a little over a week ago. Neither envelope had a return address. Its postmark, like the one before, told him it had also been sent from Dallas. Bronson opened the letter and read the typewritten text:
I didn’t get an answer. Do you remember Casey?
S
Bronson clearly recalled the first typewritten message. It had read:
Remember Casey?
S had also signed it.
A stabbing pain, like thousands of needles penetrating his skin, immobilized Bronson.
Casey.
His first big case. His first failure.
Casey had died because Bronson had chosen to follow procedure.
Casey.
Dead now for over twenty years.
Twenty-odd years, and it still haunted him.
He had sworn back then that from there on, he’d follow his gut instinct even if it meant ignoring procedure. During the next twenty-six years that he spent on the force, he became infamous for bending the rules, just a little, now and then. Outside of his immediate supervisors, no one seemed to mind too much. After all, he almost always solved the cases.
Almost always.
But not Casey’s.
Bronson’s glance strayed toward the plain envelope, the type sold at thousands of discount stores, supermarkets, and drug or office supply stores. Tracing it would be next to impossible, but there existed more than one way to cook a goose. Or in this case, catch the goose.
Bronson drank his coffee, scooped the mail back into the bag, and hurried home. Once there, he dumped the mail on the couch, walked over to his desk and retrieved two swabs and a small plastic bottle filled with distilled water. He swabbed the sticky side of both of the envelope flaps and the stamps, placed the swabs in separate envelopes, labeled their contents, and sealed the envelopes.
Next, he made duplicates of both envelopes and their letters. He bagged the original letters and envelopes in separate plastic bags. He placed all of the items in a large envelope and labeled it Paul McKenzie.
First thing tomorrow, he would call him and cash in on a favor. Bronson would deliver the bag and Paul would use the swabs to do DNA testing, and from the original envelope, hopefully, he would lift some fingerprints that were on file. If nothing else, Paul could determine what kind of printer was used. The results would tell Bronson everything he needed to know. “Gotcha!” The goose was cooked and Bronson wondered why that was so important. He didn’t even like goose.
Just as he stuffed everything inside the top drawer, the front door opened and Carol stepped in. “Whew!” She wiped her hands on the sides of her jeans. “I finished packing the camper. It’s ready to go. Have you—” Her eyes narrowed as she studied her husband. She placed her hands on her hips. “Harry Bronson, are you brooding again about losing that job?”
Bronson frowned. “I was on the force over twenty-six years.”
“Yeah, have you forgotten already? That’s twenty-six looong years. So you just snap out of it. You promised me. One-month vacation time. No beeper. No cell phone. You are retired.”
“Forced retirement, have you forgotten?”
Carol’s eyes softened and Bronson realized why he loved this woman so much. He forced a smile. “Gotta take the cell phone, though. In case one of the kids needs to get hold of us.” Amazing, he still thought of them as kids even though they were married and in their late twenties. He made a mental note to stop referring to them as kids.
“I’ll give you that one. You can take the cell phone.” Carol’s eyes narrowed, studying her husband. “You’re still brooding about being fired?”
Bronson shrugged and looked down.
She walked over to him and hugged him. “You know it was a political move. You and Garza never got along. He’s strictly by the book. You weren’t. You ruffled his feathers once too often. You knew it was coming. Only reason he didn’t fire you sooner was because he knew how good you are. Hell, all of Dallas knows about you. You’re a legend in this city.”
“That doesn’t change a thing though.” He massaged his temple. “I’ve been thinkin’ about a P. I. license. Maybe I should get one of ’em. I’m too young to retire.”
“You could do that, but first one month. Just you and me in our camper, touring the country. No work. You promised, remember?”
Yeah, but I hate to drive, but I did promise, didn’t I? He rearranged his features, hoping he’d put on a happy face. “And a promise made is a debt unpaid.” Bronson wrapped his arms around his wife and thought about the letter.
Certainly, it didn’t mean anything. Just someone’s way of letting him know that the great Harry Bronson wasn’t infallible.
But Bronson already knew that.
He had botched Casey’s case.
Somewhere out there in the streets, a killer walked. Free of guilt. Free of fear. He had challenged the police, and he had won.
All because Bronson followed procedure.
Chapter Two
Normally, Carol rose at the crack of dawn. But not today, a small miracle Bronson felt thankful for. He had told Carol not to worry about breakfast. “I’ll be meetin’ Paul for coffee and a doughnut.” He knew she wouldn’t question that. He had been, after all, a policeman.
His eyes snapped open even before the alarm clock went off. He quickly dressed as he listened to Carol gently snore. He quietly closed the bedroom door, and from his desk in the study, he retrieved the package containing the envelopes, letters, and swabs. He did all of this without arousing Carol’s curiosity. Boy, he was good.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the Dunkin Donuts’ parking lot. Paul, a big man with a belly to match, sat at the corner booth table. He set the newspaper down and waved at Bronson. They made small talk until both had consumed their doughnuts. Paul wiped his mouth and looked at Bronson. “So what’s up?”
“Meanin’?”
Paul pointed to the envelope. “Is that for me?”
Bronson gently slid it toward his side of the table. “As a matter of fact, yes. Darnest thing. Been gettin’ these annoyin’ letters. Thought maybe you could unofficially check them out for me. See what kind of information you can find.”
“DNA? Fingerprints?”
Bronson nodded. “The works.”
“And I bet you want me to do this on the sly?”
“Preferably.” He looked down at the receipt. “I’ll even pay for your coffee and doughnut.”
Paul gave him a quizzical look. “We’ve already paid. We went Dutch.” His eyes sparkled with laughter.
“Next time, then.” Bronson pushed the envelope a few inches toward Paul.
Paul reached for the envelope. “Sure. I’ve got nothing to do anyway.”
Bronson smiled. He knew Paul had enough work to keep twenty men employed.
* * * * *
Back home, Bronson glared at the budget figures. Maybe if he did that long enough, they’d magical
ly transform themselves into numbers that would make ends meet at the end of the month. He glared some more, but nothing changed.
Now would be the time to cuss, but Carol would shoot him if he did. And that wouldn’t be good. He still had a lot of things he wanted to accomplish.
To be honest, he loved his new RV. Small, only twenty-five feet long, but with the two slide-outs, Bronson felt no desire for a larger one. This unit contained all the luxuries of home. The nice-size bed on the back didn’t have to be converted every night from a sofa or dinette. The bathroom contained a shower with a small tub. The living area had a TV, microwave, an oven, a good-size refrigerator complete with a freezer, and plenty of storage space. Who could ask for more?
While Bronson loved the RV, he hated the hefty payment that went along with it. Add to that the tow vehicle. His old Ford hadn’t been made to be towed. Something about transmissions. Only certain cars were made to be towed flat.
So now, Bronson had become the proud owner of a green Honda CRV. Cute thing, sure enough, but it also had a cute monthly bill attached to it. Guys at work all knew this, so they contributed to Bronson’s retirement fund. They raised—bless their souls—a bit over three thousand dollars. Surely, a nice sum, but eventually, the money would run out. Then the camper would sit in their driveway, unused. Too expensive to move. So why have it?
This retirement thing—Bronson just wasn’t ready for it. But he had promised Carol at least a month-long vacation, and heaven knew she deserved it.