ONE:

Chapter One

               

 Late spring in Southern New England can unexpectedly carry a little steam.  Ninety-two with eighty-five percent humidity at 10:00PM.  Weather you'd expect to deal with in August can show up in late May.  Like they say... If you don't like the weather here, just wait a minute.         

She stepped out the back door of the small family restaurant and, fresh from the AC, the heat took her breath for a second.  It was just over a mile and a quarter to her apartment on Fresh Brook Road, but if the tips had been better she'd be tempted to call a cab, or maybe Uber.  But Tuesday's never a big tip night, so she'd have to hoof it.       

She pulled the Nikes out of her backpack and stepped out of her heels.  It felt so sweet to have the heels in the bag and the sneaks on her feet for a change.  Thirty-two and twice divorced, she lived alone and really enjoyed it.  She loved being with people, but this gave her the option to be alone whenever she liked.  As time went on, that was often.               

She lit a Marlboro red, her third of the day, and slowly inhaled the lovely smoke.  A little rush and the comfort of an often suppressed old vice.  At five foot seven she was a bit tallish for a woman and had a nice slim figure with average, though still fairly taut, breasts.  Working out at home kept her weight in check and her body fit.               

She'd been off men for months since the last fiasco.  They all seemed so nice at first.  It never lasted.  She had shitty taste in men apparently.  She'd lived on the Cape all her life, having been born in Truro.  She was now living in South Yarmouth.  The Cape fit her temperament.  The influx of visitors during season was fun and full of interesting chance meetings.  The off season was quiet and made her feel she was of the chosen few who had this beautiful part of the country nearly to herself.               

As she rounded the dumpster and headed off down Main Street, she felt movement behind her and to her left.  As she began to turn, a canvas bag came crashing down over her head and she was knocked off her feet.  Two quick, hard slaps to the head made it difficult  to scream as she felt rope cinching her ankles and then her midsection.  She was roughly picked up and heard what sounded like a van door sliding open right before she hit the floor and the air left her lungs.

TWO:

Chapter Two

              

 Detective Sargeant Jack Walker was sitting on his deck reading a Sports Illustrated article about the Sox.  It was Big Papi's last year and they were doing well so far.  A half empty rock glass of Belvedere vodka sat on the metallic mesh table to his left and his shoes were lying next to his chair.  Still in his work shirt with the tie pulled down and the top two buttons  undone, he wiggled his toes in his stocking feet.  Felt nice to be free of the heavy leather.  Jack was just under 6' tall and weighed around 185.  He was handsome in a clean cut sort of way and no one would really peg him as a cop with a black belt and extensive experience with firearms.               

Thursday nights at this time of year were usually pretty quiet aside from the occasional domestic dispute and bar fight.  Stuff he seldom had to deal with himself.  Working out of the barracks that houses Troop D-2 over on route 28 wasn't bad duty.  The barracks covered the interesting part of the Cape.  Barnstable, Yarmouth, Dennis, Brewster, Harwich, Chatham, Orleans, Eastham, Wellfleet, Truro and at the very tip,  P town (Provincetown).                

A missing person report had been filed this morning for a restaurant hostess over in South Yarmouth where his barracks were located, though he lived in Wellfleet.  She was relatively young and was probably off somewhere on a fling, though he'd interviewed co-workers,  boss and neighbors.  The boss filed the report when she missed two days of work without a word and didn't respond to email, texts or voicemail.  He felt she was pretty responsible and was concerned for her safety.               

Other than that he was primarily handling some cold cases and going to court to testify in ongoing cases.  Nice, light duty.  He was looking forward to more of this and a nice uneventful cheerful summer full of pretty tourists in bikinis.                

He felt his phone vibrate at his hip, pulled it and saw it was the office.  Walker:  "Hello?"  Mack Bragg:  "Finish up the Russky tap water, boss, you need to be at a crime scene about fifteen minutes ago." "And put your shoes on for chrissake..."

THREE:

 Chapter Three

                

Bragg and Washington were both inside the yellow tape when he pulled up in his black Infiniti G35X.  The scene was on the other side of James Pond from the cop shop.  They were in the bushes just off Wood Road at the shore of the pond.  In a thicket of deep brambles and cat o' nine tales the naked torso of a woman was visible if standing on higher ground at just the right angle.  A dog walker was doing just that when he lost his lunch.                

The crime scene van had just pulled up and the CSI crew was preparing to go down and collect evidence in and around the body.  Walker was nothing but a bystander for now as he couldn't even approach the body.  They'd normally canvas the area and question neighbors but there were only two close enough to bother with and that'd been handled straight away.               

He had a picture of  Jeanne Jorgenson, the hostess, in his wallet and compared it with what he could see of the body.  A possible match but much too early to jump to that conclusion.  There were no clothes visible around the body or surrounding area, so it appeared she'd been dumped naked.  They'd search for tire prints, cigarette butts, condoms, match covers and what not in an ever expanding circle emanating from the dump site. Walker yelled down to a CSI "Pete.  How long?"  Pete: "Too early to tell but not long.  Hours rather than days would be my first impression."               

  Walker noticed the corpse had a very nice body.  More the shame.  After an hour he was finally allowed to approach and take a closer look.  Not an easy trek as the brambles were thick and swamp water a few inches deep.   She was lying partially on her left side with her face in the water up to the middle of her ears.  There were assorted small lacerations and bruises on her arms, thighs, upper and lower back and face.  There were also three small entrance wounds in the back of her head, all within a diameter smaller than a quarter.  Twenty Two caliber size entrance wounds.    Turning her face toward the spotlights it was easy to see that this was indeed Jorgenson.               

Searching the immediate area yielded nothing.  No purse, no wallet, no clothes... Nothing.  Other than waiting for the autopsy report he was back to interviewing friends and acquaintances.  Was she seeing anyone special, dating random guys, recent personality changes, drug or alcohol issues, the usual questions designed to get a handle on what the victim was like and who she was affiliated with.  He'd also question residents of the neighboring houses himself.  So much for the quiet spring and summer...

FOUR:

Chapter Four

               

 Hiram Miller hosed out the white Econoline and scrubbed every inch of the interior with bleach.  Not much had really happened in the van but it was wise not to take chances.  Especially considering the technology available to law enforcement.  He had a few scratches on his face he'd do his best to cover and also stay out of sight for a few days.  Marcy could do the shopping and whatever else necessitated leaving the Sandwich rental cabin.  They called it a cottage in the brochures, but it was essentially a cabin. 

Marcy was lying face down in a beat up folding lounge chair with her top lying in the grass nearby.  She was still wearing her ass flosser thong, but it wasn't doing much of a job at preserving her modesty.  Approaching forty, she still had the body that years ago had kept her employed as a dancer at various venues in the Providence area, most notably the Foxy Lady with its famous "legs and eggs" breakfast.  She snored quietly while a nearly empty glass of Pinot sat near her halter top slowly getting warm.  She'd had a busy couple of days.            

They'd fantasized about this for a few years and had finally acted.  It was exhilarating, scary, surreal and over the top sexy.  They both loved tall fit women and took full advantage of having one completely at their mercy for over twenty-four hours.  They were both exhausted and at least temporarily sated.  That wouldn't last.  They both knew they'd need to do it again.  And soon.          

But they'd have to be careful and learn from their first time.  They were already thinking of new things they wanted to try and it excited both of them.  And brought the next time just a little closer as they discussed the possibilities.

FIVE:

 Chapter Five

             

 Brit Peters was having one of those nights.   The diner was full almost all evening, the cook was in a shitty mood and she got stuck sharing tables with the only waitress lazier than herself.   Tips also sucked tonight.  She was seriously thinking about moving to Providence and getting a factory job at Hasbro.  At least it was steady pay and she'd be off her feet most of the night.   She loved the cape, but there were limits... She could always come back on the weekends and be a tourist.                

One more hour until closing and then cleanup.  She'd be back in bed in two hours tops.  While she was bussing a table by the window she saw a white van roll in and a couple pop out and stroll over to the table she was working.  The man told her they'd wait 'till she was done because they wanted that table.  No skin off her ass.  Maybe they understood the concept of tipping.               

Once they were settled in the booth they were ready to order and Brit passed the info to the cook who just gave her the stink eye.  She flipped him off walking away and pounded through the swinging doors back to the front.  She caught the female of the new couple checking her out as she turned around the snack bar.  Nah.  She was just imagining things.  What would  a nice looking redhead with a body like that want with another woman if she was hooked up with that fine looking bad boy.               

She'd never had a threesome, but looking at those two made her wonder if she'd go for it.  Not that she'd never been attracted to women before, because she had.  She'd even made out with a few over the years, but nothing beyond a little tongue and light petting at drunken parties.                

The night rolled on and they finally left, dropping a 30 percent tip, God bless 'em.  They both smiled and waved on the way out.                

At 10:00 Brit finally put on her jacket and headed for the door.  Her car was parked at the far end of the parking lot so the customers could get the best spots as company policy suggested.  Just as she pulled her key out and pressed the button, the van rolled up from behind her.  Bad boy stuck his head out and asked if she wanted to join them for a nightcap and maybe party a little.  While she thought it over, Red popped her door and sashayed over.  With a smile, she grabbed Brit by the back of the head and kissed her deeply.               

Despite herself she started getting warm and damp feelings in that special place.  Red:  C'mon let's go have some fun, and she walked back to the van.  Brit only hesitated a second and followed.  Not the best decision of her young life.  And one of the very last.

SIX:

Chapter Six

               

 Jack drove up to one of the neighbor's houses, got out and walked up to the porch.  After two knocks, a rather large hirsute gentleman popped the screen door, stuck his head out and said "What?"  Jack flashed his badge, said "State Police, we have a few questions."  "Same questions you had the last two times you were here?"  "I'm really sorry to bother you but this is my first interview with you and I'm responsible for this case.  A young woman is dead.  Someone needs to answer for that.  You're Mr. Petersen?"  "Yes."  "Can I come in?"  Petersen:  "Sure... you want a beer?"

Getting absolutely nothing from Petersen, he moved on to the second house.  Petersen heard nothing, saw nothing and suspected nothing.  And he was home all evening.  This was starting to look like a waste of time.  A Mrs. Sousa opened the door at the second house and stepped out on her tiny porch to answer Jack's questions.  Same deal.  Nothing.

CSI didn't find any tire tracks, cigarette butts, condoms, gum wrappers or an ID card identifying the killers.  The autopsy produced the fact that the victim's fingernails were scrubbed with bleach and possibly her entire body as well.  No prints, no hairs, no semen, no blood that belonged to someone else, no fibers.  Nothing.  But she had been raped.  Apparently often and in every available orifice.  There was massive bruising which ruled out consensual sex, unless she was into the rough stuff in a big way.  The only true oddity was that there were some wounds in the vagina that seemed to be made by rather long and sharp fingernails.  Huh.

SEVEN:

Chapter Seven

               

 Hiram got out of the van and walked to the garage attached to the vacant home they'd broken into weeks before.  The owners were apparently abroad and there was no sign anyone was checking up on the place.  They found a set of keys inside, but no garage door opener.  They did, however, find a notepad with a bunch of passwords.  The key combination for the garage door keypad was one.  Hiram punched in the code and Marcy, who'd switched from shotgun to driver's side slid the van into the garage.  Hiram pushed a button inside the garage and the door slid quietly down.               

Jack sat down on the barstool at Players Pub in Sandwich and ordered up two hard tacos, a shot of Sauza Hornitos and a sixteen ounce glass of Rolling Rock on tap.  The tacos were an afterthought.  Mel Jakes occupied the adjacent stool and sat in front of a pony glass of Makers Mark.  Mel looked like he just fell off a turnip truck.  Faded orange Grace Potter tee, jeans that looked like they came out of a dumpster and an Oakland Raiders cap that was more gray than black.  He mostly ran undercover, so the brass put up with it.  Even though this is exactly how he dressed when off duty.                

Mel:  "Got yourself a homicide real close to home, eh boss?  Just the other side of the pond.  That either takes a lot of nads or they didn't even realize the barracks are less than a mile away.  Not that it matters in this case.  Looks like you've got shit for evidence so far."  Walker:  "Yeah... but it's high quality grade A shit.  And it don't even stink."  Mel:  "Course not boss.  Yours never does.  CSI get anything?"  "Nope.  Not a fucking thing.  Nada.  Except for the sharp fingernail slices deep in the victim's vagina."  Mel: "Seriously?  This is a chick we're dealing with?"  Walker:  "Or a guy with long nails."  Mel:  "Yeah.  Sure.  That could happen.  You ever think this might be a guy, chick tag team thing?"  Hmmm...

EIGHT:

Chapter Eight

               

 The FitBit on  Jack's wrist started vibrating violently.  6:00 AM.  Time to get your sorry ass out of the rack.  FUCK!!!  He rolled out of bed and felt his way to the bathroom with his eyes not quite focused and took a leak without spattering the still closed seat.  He walked tenderly out to the kitchen and tossed in a Keurig pod and pushed the brew button.  Buttered toast, a glass of water and six vitamins serve as breakfast.  And of course that cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee out of the Keurig.               

Another missing woman that might or might not be tied into the abduction/murder of Jorgenson, but smart money pointed that way.  Another woman working a late shift disappearing into thin air.  Her roommate was frantic with worry.  It was a scenario where they only had one place to start the search, her workplace.   The restaurant where she worked had cameras in the parking lot, but they didn't cover every corner.  The tapes showed nothing unusual.  They did show her leaving and walking across the lot, but she disappeared from the corner of the screen and there was nothing more to see.               

Co-workers saw her chatting with a young couple in a booth towards the end of the night but no one had any idea how they arrived or left.  The female was a red head with long hair and a very nice body.  It almost seemed that they knew exactly what the cameras covered.   They were also able to avoid the internal cameras, though one camera did capture a shot of them leaving.  Neither showed their face, and that didn't look like an accident.   After talking to the roommate, fellow employees, the restaurant manager, he was none the wiser.  Except that Brit Peters appeared to be a bit of a party girl, and apparently never had to worry about coming up with a bed partner.  She was probably just shacked up.  Although... the man-woman tag team thing did pass through his mind.              

Jack stopped at a Riccoti's sub franchise in town and picked up a medium Italian sub with everything but hot peppers.   Sonny, the manager, always took care of him and piled the meat and cheese high.  Sonny: "Hey Jack... not for nothing but there are some pretty nasty looking bikers hanging in town lately.  They've been here a few weeks."  Jack:  "Colors?"  Sonny:  "Nope...  No obvious affiliations, which is also odd.  I think they're camping out somewhere since I haven't heard that they're actually staying in town."  "You haven't heard or you've asked around to check?"  "Check?  That'd be wicked nosy wouldn't it?"  "Yeah... What was I thinking.  I'll look into it."               

He'd have Mel take a look at these bikers to see what's what.  It'd be a shame to find a meth lab out in Nickerson somewhere in a shitty little trailer, but it wouldn't be the first time. 

NINE:

Chapter Nine

               

Hiram pointed the light HBI 20 out towards Martha's Vineyard and just cruised along at a fairly sedate speed.  There were two duffel bags lying in the stern that contained various parts of a female body, and a number of fairly heavy rocks.  The bags were also perforated by a Buck Knife.  It seemed pretty stupid to leave a body where it'd eventually be found.  They were also very surprised that the first body was found as quickly as it was, so it was very clear to them that this one had to disappear for good.  No body, no forensic evidence.  Actually no real evidence of any crime.  This was getting easier and easier.  And this one was so much more fun for both of them.  She really got into it until she finally realized she wouldn't survive the party.   

Jack got Mel started on the bikers and went back to look at the two disappearances.  The first ended in a discovered body, the second was a blank.  Total blank.  There's nothing to do but wait and see in a case like this.  Wait for a body to turn up, alive or dead.  Wait for another crime to lead them to this one, if it was a crime.  They'd run out of evidence to check and people to speak with.  It looked like a classic case that would eventually wind up in the cold files.  There was no way to tie it in to the Jorgenson murder.  But that couple just kept flashing through his mind.  Long fingernails.  He'd start looking around for people of their height and build who were new in town.  How many redheads with a fine ass could there possibly be floating around the cape?  Getting a count on that wouldn't be bad duty...               

He put the word out that he was looking for a visitor to the Cape who had long dark red hair and a nice figure.  The video had her pegged at around 5'5".  He knew, deep in his heart, that every male trooper on the cape would give this task his undivided attention. As would some of the females.  There was something about red headed women.  Especially fine looking red headed women with green eyes.  He wondered if she had green eyes.               

Mel found the bikers in question in just under an hour and parked himself at the bar they were currently invading.  He sat at the far corner of the bar where he had a full view of the entire establishment and no one could get behind him.  The F.O.B. was a fairly new dive in Sandwich that already seemed to be attracting a certain type of clientele.  There were six of them sitting around drinking or playing pool.  Just as Jack had said:  No colors.  Mel sauntered over to the main pool table and dropped four quarters on the rail.               

Half an hour later, one of the bikers yelled and pointed in his direction.  He got up and grabbed a gnarly looking 21 ounce bar stick that allegedly had been straight in its youth.  A young, beefy, biker broke and nothing dropped.  He said " Straight eight.  Call your pocket."   Mel looked like he could barely lift his stick, but he managed to drop five in a row and leave the cue ball cuddled up to the eight right near a side pocket.  An older biker with a long salt and pepper beard and matching hair down to his ass captured in a ponytail by a thick leather thong, said... "Nice shooting.  Especially since that cue should be kindling for a fire pit.  You play for fun or money?"  Mel: "Yup."

TEN:

Chapter Ten

               

 Jack's cell went off and it was a Sandwich cop letting him know he'd spotted a spectacular redhead lying in a beach chair.  Jack headed in that direction with a song in his heart.  He parked on the curb and put his "police officer" plaque on the dash.  Walking through hot beach sand in combat boots is a lot harder than you'd think, but he was on a mission.   He finally spotted her and found her reading a John Sandford "Prey" novel.  He stopped in front of her and asked if she'd like to know how it ends.  She slipped her Wayfarer sun glasses down her nose and examined him as if he were a science project gone bad.

"No... Thanks.  I think I'll let it be a surprise, as that's exactly the reason you read a mystery novel in the first place.  Something I can do for you?  That's not illegal, immoral or socially unattractive, that is..."  "Well... There might be a question regarding the propriety of the outfit you're currently wearing in public, but I'll let that ride since I'm in such a good mood.  Actually I'm investigating a murder that may involve a young woman with long red hair.  Are you here alone or are you with a companion?"  "Right.  You're investigating.  Which is why you want to know if I'm alone.  Uh huh... Got it."                

"No!  I really am investigating a murder and it's important that I know if you're alone or with a companion."  "If I don't answer, am I going downtown?"  "Oh for...  NO.  You're not going downtown.  Can I start over?"  "Probably not.  Nice talking to you..."

She wouldn't need a gun to kill you.  She just shot him down with three different looks and less than forty words.  Obviously not the redhead they're looking for.   There are probably scores of her sisters lying out on the Cape beaches this week.  He may need to see a shrink once this is over...

Janice Harris hadn't been to the Cape in years and had forgotten how beautiful it could be.  She'd just come back from Provincetown and had picked up a couple of nice paintings done by some of the resident artists.  Incredibly nice weather and a relaxing week.  She should really do this more often.  She was wearing a fairly modest one piece bathing suit, with a slight plunge at the neckline, in a very sharp leopard skin print.  She had her hair tied back and  the big WayFarer sunglasses were perched on her button nose.

At thirty-two years old she felt  she'd reached her prime.  She was still in excellent physical condition as attested to by stares from both sexes as she strolled leisurely down the beach with a bag over her shoulder and a beach towel neatly folded under her arm.   Her figure used to be called zaftig years ago.  Curves that went on forever with a tiny, tight, waist to further accentuate the fact that she was one hundred percent female.

She finally found the right spot, not too far from the waves, but far enough back that there were still open spots on the sand.  She dropped the bag, waved out the towel and sat for a second before turning over and lying face down.  The sun was awesome this time of year.  Not too hot and the humidity was turned down low.  She undid the strap at the back of her neck and pulled the top half of her suit down to her waist.  Even lying down flat, her breasts were anything but hidden.  The foot traffic in her area tripled over the next hour.               

After zoning out for an hour or so, her eyes popped open when a new shadow passed between her and the sun.  Her eyes slowly focused on a nicely sculpted pair of legs and a bright white bikini bottom at their apex.  She blinked and cocked her head back a bit in order to take in more of the intruder.  She found herself focused on a very attractive red head with perfect emerald eyes and a very confident attitude.  She blinked twice...  and the red head smiled and said "hi!"

ELEVEN:

Chapter Eleven

             

Jack sat at his desk looking at all the information they had on the Brit Peters' disappearance.  It wasn't much.  They really needed to find her last customers the night she disappeared.  Tall guy with longish dark hair and the redhead with a nice figure.  There couldn't be more than a thousand similar combinations on the cape this week.  Piece of cake.  Even if he was able to find them there was no guarantee they had anything to do with any crime.       

Captain Harris walked by his door, hit the brakes and turned into Jack's doorway.  "Anything?"asked Harris.  "Nothing.  No leads, no evidence, no clues."  "You think this is something?"  "Starting to feel that way.  She's been gone too long now for reasonable explanations."  "You think this really is a couple?" asked Harris.  "Getting that vibe, yeah."  "Huh.  That's pretty unusual.  What do you think is driving this?"  "Not a  lot of money in play, so it looks like sex, right?  They both like pussy and they both like it rough.  Too rough for consensual sex.   That make sense?"  Jack:  "Yeah.  That's what I'm starting to think, though it's pretty freaky and means we've got a pair of truly sick motherfuckers on our hands."  Harris:  "This fucks up the season, we're gonna have a bunch of political dip shits all over us."                

Mel won five in a row and was getting comfy with the biker crew.  He asked them where they were staying and they got a little evasive.  "Hey... not a big deal, just curious.  If you don't know the cape you could be getting taken for a ride.  It's not quite into the season yet, but some of these greedy assholes charge summer rates as soon as they think they can get away with it.  Just thought I could save you a few bucks."  The biker just said... "Nah... We're actually camping out, so we're good.  Thanks, though..."               

Janice Harris spent the rest of the afternoon lying next to the cute redhead sharing stories.  There was a lot of laughter and shared man related experiences.  There was also a full bottle of Pinot that seemed to get empty too fast.  As the sun started to come down and the beach cooled off, they made plans to meet at the F.O.B. for drinks after supper.  They planned on hitting a few clubs to see what was jumping this fine evening on the cape.  Sounded like fun.               

Jack sat on the deck of the "Oceanside Cafe" with a cup of coffee reading email off his iPhone and surfing around.  The beaches were starting to empty out and he thought he'd stake out this one and keep his eyes open for the mystery couple.  So many attractive women and so little time.  The crowds here would triple in a few short weeks and the bathing suits would consist of a lot less fabric as the weather heated up.  He looked up to see a fine looking curvy blonde turn the corner and walk past the deck, heading to the main parking lot.  She was walking with a very nice looking shorter red head and it made him think,

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 11.02.2019
ISBN: 978-3-7438-9631-4

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Widmung:
For my wife, Pat...