OTHER TITLES BY KEITH HOUGHTON
No Coming Back
Before You Leap
Crash
The Gabe Quinn Thrillers
Killing Hope
Crossing Lines
Taking Liberty
Chasing Fame
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2019 by Keith Houghton
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503900912
ISBN-10: 1503900916
Cover design by Ghost Design
For Lynn
My beautiful wife
For giving me wings and for keeping me grounded
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Author’s note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
LINDY MUNSON MUST DIE
Long before she’d agreed to go on a date with him, Tyler had known he would kill Lindy Munson.
One day. Somehow. Preferably slowly.
For years, whenever Tyler had thought of the girl with the sallow complexion and the snow-white hair, he’d fantasized about doing something bad to her—probably from as far back as the sixth grade and the very first time she’d caught him studying her from across the school cafeteria.
Long-legged Lindy, with her teasing personality and her annoying popularity. A throat that was ripe for strangling.
Back then, Tyler had meant nothing to her. Not even an irritation. Something less than human. He’d been invisible, her gaze penetrating right through him, as though he didn’t exist. It was a look of absolute indifference that had gobbled up every bit of his universe, until all that had remained was Lindy the Langolier eating into his brain.
Tyler couldn’t recall the exact moment he’d decided to kill the most popular girl in school. The cafeteria incident had been the first of many, with Lindy’s continued aloofness consuming him through the years.
What would it take to make her notice him?
Tyler had asked himself this question countless times during the past four years of high school, usually when he was lying awake at night and visualizing all the ways he could make Lindy see him. He’d lost track of how many abduction scenarios he’d planned out in fine detail, and what he’d do to her once they were finally alone together.
Tyler’s stomach clenched as he glanced at the girl sitting next to him in the passenger seat of his Dodge Charger, her hands tapping along to the song on the radio. Her long smooth legs seemed to bend in the middle without any hint of knees, and her elbows seemed equally inconspicuous. Lindy Munson was a living, breathing Barbie doll, and although her curves were subtle, she knew how to make boys notice them. But as with most things made of cheap plastic, they could snap easily.
“Is this your first time?” she asked him as he parked the car so that it faced an area of undeveloped land opposite the high school, its headlights stirring up ghoulish shadows in the trees.
Far too loudly and far too quickly, Tyler laughed a “No!” as though her question was totally insane and without merit, because of course he did this kind of thing with a different girl every night of the week. Duh!
“It’s okay if it is,” she said, unbuckling her seat belt and smiling at him through her sticky red lip gloss. “I’ll make it memorable.”
Tyler had to suppress the urge to rip the self-serving grin off her face.
Even though they had been in the car for some time now, negotiating the evening traffic and making light chitchat, Tyler was still slightly disbelieving that the girl of his bad dreams was here in the flesh, and a blaze of unexpected nerves still burned in his belly.
She’d texted him:
Meet me outside Family Dollar @ 7
And he’d picked her up, teeth brushed, deodorized, his nerves through the roof as Lindy had gotten into his car.
Nobody had seen them leave the strip mall parking lot on Pine Hills Road—the most popular girl in school driving away with him. Everything was still a blur.
To avoid traffic cameras, Tyler had deliberately taken a circuitous route, keeping to the speed limits all the way. He’d kept their date a secret, and he doubted Lindy had shared their Saturday night rendezvous with any of her judgmental BFFs.
As far as everybody was concerned, Tyler was the last person in the world whom Lindy would be hanging out with on Halloween.
It couldn’t have worked out better.
“I know this cool place in the woods,” Lindy said, her long fingers curling around the door handle while her other hand pushed the door fully open. “It’ll be perfect.” She climbed out, fingertips sliding along the passenger window and leaving tracks.
He’d have to wipe away her grease. Wipe her off the face of the earth while he was at it.
Lindy continued around to the grass in front of the car. Tyler watched, a low rumble in the back of his throat as she raised her arms, dancing in the mote-filled headlights, her pointy breasts gyrating against her red tank top, her whole elasticated body swaying and twisting.
Lindy the temptress.
She looked like a girl in a James Bond title sequence, the one who ended up dead in the first act.
Tyler had fire in his belly.
Working on the problem of how to dispose of Lindy Munson’s body had tested him, forcing adjustments in his plan, until he was confident he had it right.
In any populated area, completely disposing of a corpse in such a way that it would remain forever undiscovered was likely impossible. There was always the chance that some incriminating part of it would turn up unexpectedly and point an accusing finger at him. Bury it in a shallow grave, and there would always be that pesky one-in-a-million dog that would come snuffling along and dig up a bone. Submerge it in water, and gaseous decompression would break it apart, bits of it bubbling to the surface, where it could become snagged on fishing hooks. Even feeding it into a wood chipper would spray a ton of blood evidence all over the place. Besides which, the mainstream media had introduced the world
to the power of police forensics, and Tyler knew for a fact that if he wanted to get away with Lindy’s murder, he’d have to make her disappear in a puff of smoke.
Then, at some point, he’d realized he didn’t need to dispose of the body at all, just burn it. Toast marshmallows while Lindy fried. And that was why he’d also stashed a can of gasoline in the trunk, because fire was the only guaranteed way to destroy DNA evidence. Every last bit of it.
Lindy summoned him with a wave of her hand. “Come on,” she called. She turned, skipping along a sandy trail that snaked downslope across the grass.
Tyler killed the engine and the headlights died.
Then, beneath the dusk-bruised sky, he followed her toward the woods, his legs a little wobbly at first, but strengthening with each stride. Becoming purposeful. He’d waited years for this moment. This could be as alone as the two of them might ever come to be. It was now, or maybe never.
The sandy trail headed downhill sharply before disappearing into the trees. He fumbled his way through clawing branches and around prickly undergrowth.
“Right this way,” he heard her say from a dozen yards ahead.
Stoked by the anticipation of what was to come, Tyler picked up the pace, closing in on her, the fire in his belly spreading into his chest, fueling him, igniting him, propelling him.
No more humiliation.
No more Mr. Invisible.
No more Lindy Munson.
Hurrah!
All he could think about was wrapping his hands around Lindy’s scrawny neck and squeezing the life out of her. The feel of her flesh under his hands. The quickening of her pulse. The sheer terror in her widening eyes as she realized what was happening to her. The heaving of her breasts as she struggled to breathe. Her nipples hard and erect. Strangling her slowly, maybe not even ending it right away, but rather letting her revive, over and over, each time with her knowing that the next throttling could be her last.
Making her see him.
Adrenalized, Tyler crashed through the undergrowth after her, his breath hastening and his senses sharpening.
“Hold up!” he shouted.
She did, and in just a few seconds he caught up.
She faced him on the path, nibbling her lower lip, giggling as she reached out and placed her hand on the hardening bulge in his pants. “Patience,” she tittered, her smile growing into a whorish grin. “Don’t jump the gun, little boy. We’re almost there. I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”
But Tyler couldn’t contain himself anymore.
His vision pulsated.
His ears rang.
He was about to burst!
Before she could lead on, he brought up his fist and cuffed her on the chin, hard enough to send her staggering backward. Even in the poor light, he saw confusion twist her face.
Was she beginning to see the real him for the first time?
With hooked fingers, he reached out for her again.
This time, Lindy turned and ran.
And Tyler gave chase.
Chapter Two
THE SWEET SPOT
Maggie Novak stood her ground as a youth wearing a Scream mask and brandishing a chef’s knife hustled toward her on the street. She curled her fingers around the broomstick in her hands and glowered from under the brim of her witch hat, refusing to budge. Had this been any other night, and had Maggie been better armed, she would have drawn her police-issue .45-caliber Glock 21 and instructed him to lay down his weapon and remove his mask. As it was, she decided her aversion to Halloween had never been more justified than right here, right now.
“The least you can do is try and look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
The remark came from Maggie’s sister, Nora, as they watched Whitney, Nora’s five-year-old daughter, scamper from door to door, collecting candy in a jack-o’-lantern bucket. All across the twilit neighborhood, homeowners had transformed their front yards into illuminated scenes of horror, in which hordes of costume-clad children scurried from one hellish haven to the next.
“It’s not like Halloween comes around every weekend,” Nora continued.
Maggie thought that once a year was once too much, but she knew better than to say it out loud. There were many things that she and Nora disagreed on, but now wasn’t the time to get into another fruitless debate.
Instead, Maggie pointed the tip of the broomstick at her sister’s blue gingham dress, saying, “Remind me again why I have to be the wicked witch while you get to be Dorothy?”
“Because you hate The Wizard of Oz.”
“I hate Halloween even more.”
Nora gave Maggie a weary half smile, the same expression their mother had made whenever Maggie had disappointed her, which had been often. “Anyway, sis,” Nora said, “you look hot in all that lace.”
Maggie ran a finger around the neck of the costume. “That’s because I’m overheating. It must be ninety degrees out here.” Even in late October, Florida evenings could be hot and muggy, and tonight seemed to be proving the point. Couple the lingering heat with the cheap polyester, and she pictured herself spontaneously combusting at any second.
Nora sighed. “It’ll be over soon enough. Then you can be wherever it is you’ve got to be.”
“I’m here because I want to be here.”
Maggie’s phone rang.
Nora shook her head. “We’ll see about that.”
Frowning, Maggie unclipped her phone from the elastic armband she wore over her dress sleeve. “I need to take this,” she said, squinting at the caller ID.
“Then I guess I’ll see you later, sis.”
“Don’t be like that. I’ll catch up.”
Nora looked doubtful. “We both know that’s not going to happen. When duty calls, my big sister always comes running.” She leaned over and kissed Maggie on the cheek. “Just do what you need to do. I’ll try and let Whitney down gently.”
Maggie watched her walk away, feeling torn. She put the phone to her ear. “Novak.”
The call was from Detective Sergeant Lenny Smits, Maggie’s immediate superior at the Orange County Sheriff’s Office, otherwise known as OCSO.
“Detective Novak,” he said, mispronouncing her name as Nofack, in the way that he always did. “You stealing children’s candy again?”
Smits had been her Major Case Section superior since she’d joined Homicide Squad five years ago. For the most part, Smits was a cheerless bureaucrat, and although he did socialize with his underlings on occasion, she knew he hardly ever made social calls, and especially not on the weekend.
“Drop what you’re doing,” he continued. “I need you on a dead body at Lake Apopka. ASAP.”
Maggie couldn’t help smiling at Smits’s phrasing. Even though his vocabulary was extensive, Smits wasn’t known for his elaboration or his eloquence when using it. He spoke like a gangster from a B movie. And he had yet to figure out that this was the reason people smirked when he was being serious.
Maggie pulled off the witch hat. “Have you informed Loomis?”
“He’s en route. Five minutes out. When can we expect you to join him?”
Maggie glanced at her car in Nora’s driveway. The black Mustang convertible was less than two weeks old, and Maggie was still in that any-excuse-for-a-drive mode. “Well, let’s see. I’m at my sister’s place right now. I’ll need to change. Give me twenty minutes?”
“Make it fifteen,” he said and hung up.
Maggie hurried inside Nora’s house, dumping the broom and the hat in the hallway, collecting her handgun and badge from Nora’s designated safe place. It was her weekend on call, and she never went anywhere unprepared. She’d learned from that particular mistake the first week on the job, turning up at a crime scene unprepared, without so much as her police badge to make her attendance official. Smits, as cuddly as a cactus, had told her to get her act together or reconsider her career options. These days, Maggie never went anywhere without the full kit and caboodle.
She called Loo
mis on speakerphone while she changed, swapping out the dress for the black shirt and skinny jeans she’d worn earlier.
“Happy Halloween,” Loomis said in his usual deadpan tone as he answered. “Remind me next year to electrify the doorbell.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Watch me. I will only be pushed so far to part with candy, Novak.”
Maggie smiled as she pulled on her knee-high boots.
Ed Loomis had spent six years as an undercover narcotics cop in New York City before switching direction and relocating to Orlando to work Homicide four years ago. At first, Maggie had had reservations about their compatibility. She’d heard on the grapevine that Loomis was difficult to work with, hotheaded, but Maggie’s fears had proved unfounded.
Loomis had turned out to be a gentle soul, on an even keel, and they’d gelled from the moment they met.
“This dead body,” Maggie said as she zipped up the boots. “What are we looking at?”
“All I know is it’s female and located on public land in back of Ocoee Parkway.”
Maggie glanced at the holstered handgun on the arm of the chair next to her, a coolness forming in her belly. “Near the high school?”
“I guess. You familiar?”
“Kind of.” She hung her badge on its necklace around her neck. “How’d we come to hear about it?”
“From a nine-one-one. Some local kid by the name of Pratt or Provitt, or something equally forgettable. You know what I’m like with names, Novak. At any rate, dispatch sent deputies, who have since confirmed the kid’s story. There’s a DB and we’re the DB police.”
Maggie scooped up the Glock and headed outside.
The swarms of costumed kids were way down the street, Nora and Whitney nowhere in sight.
“Listen, Novak,” Loomis said as she got in the Mustang and fired it up, “I know it’s our weekend to bail out the boat and all, but I’m mindful of your family commitments. If you want to get back to the party, I’m happy to go Han Solo on this. Let you pick up the slack in the morning.”
Maggie recoiled at the idea. “Are you kidding me?” she said as she backed the car out of the driveway. “I would’ve gladly traded a kidney to get out of this gig.”
There was a pause; then Loomis said, “Maggie Novak. You are one wicked aunt.”
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