Kill Crime: A Jeff Case Novel-Stunning crime thriller full of twists with an unpredictable ending. Book 1

by Mike Slavin

  He picked his way through the brush as he moved into position. A small lantern sat in the center of a group of people who were sitting on blankets. Munchies were spread out and everyone was smoking a joint. Case saw the red glow each time they took a hit. There were three blankets, and Krusty was alone on his. Case thought, he must be alone. Now it was just a matter of returning to his rental and waiting for Krusty to leave.

  Sixty minutes later, the GPS on Krusty’s car showed he was on the move. Case hopped up, grabbed the computer, and ran for the door. He jumped in his car and took off. He saw Krusty wasn’t even on the road yet. Maybe he was talking to someone in the car.

  Case sat in his car and looked at the computer screen. He was at the corner of the highway where his side street intersected it. He knew Krusty should be driving in front of him, going from right to left as he headed for home. As predicted, Krusty arrived a few minutes later. Case pulled out right behind him. He didn’t see any other cars on the road, so Case put an emergency vehicle light on the dash and turned it on.

  Krusty pulled over.

  Case stopped right behind him and left on the lights, which helped to blind Krusty. Then he got out of his car and strode up to Krusty’s window. Case’s Glock was in the small of his back and he was holding out his police badge from that little town in East Texas.

  Case flashed the badge at Krusty. “Galveston Police. Keep your hands where I can see them and step out of the vehicle,” he said.

  “Yes, sir, officer. What’d I do?” Krusty asked.

  “Sir,” Case said, “right now, I need you to step out of the car and put your hands on the roof. Right there.” Case pointed where he wanted Krusty’s hands.

  “What’s this all about?” Krusty asked. He wasn’t moving to get out of the car.

  Case opened the driver’s door, still standing slightly to the rear of it. “Sir, get out of the car, now.”

  “What for? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Get out of the car. Now!” Case reached around to his back with his right hand and gripped his Glock.

  “Fine! But I didn’t do anything.” Krusty stepped out of the car, still staring back into Case’s headlights, but with an obvious attitude.

  Case grabbed Krusty’s arm and jerked him up against the car. “Hands on the roof—now!” Case was surprised at Krusty’s alertness and hostility. He expected him to be high and more docile. He was much too alert.

  Krusty jerked his arm away. “What the fuck?” He turned to face Case.

  Case stuck his Glock into Krusty’s stomach. “Face the car. Spread your legs. Now!”

  Krusty looked at Case with hatred and rage in his eyes. He slowly turned to face the car and put his hands on the roof. “No uniform?”

  “I’m a plainclothes detective,” Case said. “Keep your mouth shut and you won’t get into any more trouble. You fit the description of someone we’re looking for. If you’re the wrong person, you’ll be free soon. For now, shut up and cooperate.”

  Case put away his gun, patted down Krusty, took one hand at a time, and handcuffed Krusty with his hands behind his back. Case read him his rights and led him to his car.

  “This is fucking bullshit,” Krusty said.

  Case drove straight to his rental and pulled into the carport. When he got out of the car, he slipped on rubber gloves. Krusty never noticed.

  “What’s going on? This ain’t no police station,” Krusty said.

  Case didn’t answer. He dragged Krusty from the SUV and pushed him to the steps.

  They went up the steps from the carport and entered the house. The house was on stilts to give it some protection from the occasional hurricanes and storm surges. When they walked into the living room area, Krusty stopped suddenly.

  “Shit, what’s with all the plastic? No fuckin’ way, man, no way!” Krusty jerked around before Case could react and hit Case in the jaw with his forehead. Case stumbled and fell. He saw that Krusty hadn’t regained his balance due to his hands being cuffed behind his back. Instead, Krusty fell to the floor and onto his face. Then he jumped up and twisted his body, trying to grab the door handle behind him. Case caught up to Krusty, held his shoulders, and kneed him hard in the crotch.

  “Ah, fuck.” Krusty went down to his knees and then bent forward. “Shit, man.” Krusty squeezed out the words but was mostly making faces as he fell over.

  Case was in a hurry to move Krusty’s car from the highway shoulder before a cop found it or before it got towed. Case pulled him up, took out his Glock, and stuck it in Krusty’s ribs.

  “Next time, I’ll just shoot you,” Case said. He pushed Krusty down the hall and into the bathroom.

  He handed Krusty the handcuff key. “Undo one handcuff, kneel, put your chest on the toilet lid, reach around the back of the toilet, and recuff yourself.”

  “C’mon, man,” Krusty said.

  Case held his Glock to Krusty’s head. “Do it now, and hurry up,” Case said. When he saw Krusty was secure, Case took back the key and then started running. He wasn’t worried about Krusty yelling. No other houses were around.

  Case ran the short distance to Krusty’s car, which was still sitting on the side of the road. He slid in and drove it to the rental house. Then it was time to get down to business.

  As soon as Case was back inside the house, he heard Krusty yell.

  “Help! Help, I’m being held hostage! I’m in the bathroom.”

  Case got a drink of water and took a few deep breaths.

  “Hey! Somebody there?” Krusty yelled.

  Case walked back down the hallway. He could see that Krusty still handcuffed, hugging the commode on his knees, his ass pointed at Case. The lid was down and his face was planted on the knitted toilet-cover cozy, which matched the pink rug he knelt on. Krusty’s back was to Case. He knew Krusty couldn’t see him over his shoulder even if he strained to do so. But Case also knew that Krusty knew he was there.

  “Whataya fucking want, man?” Krusty was sounding less brave and more concerned.

  “I told you. I’m a cop and I need some information.”

  “Bullshit. What about all that plastic?”

  “They’re remodeling.”

  “Whataya want with me, man?” Krusty rested his head on the pink carpet cover.

  Case backed up to the wall opposite the bathroom door so he could keep his eyes on Krusty. Then he slid down into a sitting position on the hardwood floor. Case was thinking his plans had gone to shit so far. He had planned to chat with a stoned Krusty and find out who had killed his wife. Then he’d planned to tie him up to a chair in the center of the plastic, give him a fatal dose of heroin, and reposition the body to be found. Maybe he still could, but he knew—with the struggle and the handcuffing in the bathroom—DNA had to be in places where Case didn’t want it to be. Plus, he wasn’t sure this lucid Krusty would tell him about the robbery.

  Maybe I should burn the house down to destroy any DNA when I’m done.

  Then Case considered that even if the police thought Krusty had been murdered after he moved the body, they’d have no reason to come back to this house. The fact that Krusty had once been employed at a robbery scene where Case’s family had later been killed was a very loose connection.

  “How about taking these handcuffs off me?” Krusty asked.

  “Not yet. Look, Krusty—”

  “How do you know my name? That’s not on my license.”

  “Never mind that. I need to know about a robbery you were involved in,” Case said.

  “What robbery?”

  “Where the owner, a woman, and her baby were killed, remember?

  “Not me! I never did nothin’ like that.”

  “Don’t lie to me—the camera caught you.”

  “Bullshit. If it had, the cops would’ve been all over me.”

  “We have video footage and an eyewitness from the apartments behind the store. Look, if it was an accident, that would help. You might get off with probation, or maybe even get off
completely— if it was an accident.”

  “Really?” Krusty asked.

  “If you tell me everything,” Case lied.

  “How come we’re not at a police station?”

  “Because I’m an undercover cop and I’m trying to get all the facts first. If I just took you in, they’d throw you in jail right away and things could be very bad for you. But if I get your side first, before I take you in, you may not even have to be locked up. I mean, if it was really an accident.”

  Krusty remained quiet for a long time. Then he said it. “Yeah, it was an accident.”

  “Okay, good. Now we’re getting somewhere. As an accident, everything changes. It’s all about intent when it comes to the law. So, what happened?”

  “Well,” Krusty paused, “the lady saw my face, so I pointed my gun at her. Then it went off—I guess it had one of those real sensitive triggers. But it was an accident. I didn’t plan to kill her.”

  “So, it was an accident. The gun just accidentally went off?” Case felt his anger rising, but he hoped it didn’t show, as he needed just a little more information.

  “Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t wanna shoot her. When I saw the baby on her chest, I tried to shoot her over the baby, but I missed. It was a real shame shooting the baby in the head, but that was an accident, too,” Krusty admitted. “Don’t I get an attorney?”

  “I don’t think so. I think it’s clear it was all an accident.”

  “Wow, that’s great, man. Can you unhandcuff me and let me get off this toilet now?”

  “In a minute. But first, what did Ronnie have to do with the robbery?” Case asked.

  “He was the lookout. I asked him to help me. He needed the money for college, so he helped me,” Krusty said.

  “Did he help you plan this?”

  “Oh, no, not at all. It was all me. He was visiting me from Kansas City and I talked him into helping me.”

  “Did he have a gun?” Case asked.

  “Nope, and he was surprised when he found out I had one. It freaked him out.”

  “So he had nothing to do with the woman getting shot?”

  “No, that really upset him, too. And the baby. He really gave me shit, but like I said, it was an accident.”

  “You shot the clerk, too?”

  “No way, that was Ronnie. The old man was kicking my ass. I thought I was a goner, but Ronnie grabbed my gun and shot the old man in the back. Damn! That surprised me.”

  “So, Ronnie killed the clerk?”

  “Yeah, Ronnie saved my ass!”

  “Hey, how about letting me up now?” Krusty was feeling pretty good, other than having his face planted into the toilet cover and his arms tiring from being wrapped around a toilet bowl. And he was thirsty. His knees and back hurt.

  His buzz was gone and this had all been pretty bizarre. However, it looked like he might get away scot-free. It was an accident, after all. Well, maybe the murder was an accident, but what about the robbery?

  “Hey, what about the robbery? They’ll charge me with that, right?”

  43

  Case couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  No remorse. No fucking remorse at all. None. Dumb shit.

  Case rose and walked to the farthest end of the house. It was the master bedroom. He shut the door. He turned on the TV and increased the volume as he walked by it. He went into the master bathroom, shut the door, and turned on the shower.

  Then he grabbed the yellow His towel, held it to his face, and screamed. Case became the Tasmanian Devil. He jumped about, throwing towels and anything else he could grab against the walls and on the floor. He faced off on a section of wall and punched it until his hand was bloody. Then he sat on the floor in the middle of the mess. He wanted so badly to beat Krusty until his fist came out the back of his head. But he had to be careful—Krusty’s death had to look like an overdose, not a beating from a man in a fit of rage.

  Case allowed himself to calm down. He looked around the master bath.

  What’s a deposit for, anyway?

  Case turned off the shower. He wiped the blood off his fist, put a few bandages on it, and slipped on a clean rubber glove. He turned off the TV and sat on the bed. It was quiet again.

  All that bullshit about it being an accident had gotten Krusty to admit that he’d killed Case’s wife and son. Case also knew Ronnie had committed murder. Ronnie wasn’t innocent in any way.

  Case’s first goal had been to snatch Krusty and get him to admit to killing his wife and son. He’d done that.

  Now what?

  The actual killing of Krusty was staring him in the face right now. Ronnie later. The real questions were—should he kill them? And could he kill Krusty now?

  His breathing deepened, his heart pounded, and his emotions came to the surface again, even after he’d let it all out in the bathroom. Case wanted to kick Krusty to a bloody pulp, but he knew it would be a forensic disaster.

  Stick to the plan. Get some weed into Krusty to soften him up, move him to the other room on the plastic in the chair, then overdose him. Until I push the needle in his arm and push the syringe, I can back out and go some other direction. Maybe replant the evidence and call the cops, but that shit would lead them back to me.

  I’m gonna kill him.

  Case got the joint and a plastic bottle of water, then went back to Krusty, who was still handcuffed and hugging the commode. “Here you go,” Case said. He unscrewed the lid on the bottle and handed it down to Krusty.

  “Hey, man, what the fuck was all that noise?” Krusty asked.

  “Do you want a drink or not?” Case asked.

  “Yeah, sure, but I can’t get it up to my mouth.” Case saw Krusty could hold the water, but he couldn’t get it up to his mouth while handcuffed around the toilet. He looked in the kitchen, found a straw, and stuck it in the bottle.

  “Damn, that water’s good,” Krusty said.

  “Want some weed?” Case asked.

  “You serious? Damn straight. Can you do that?” Krusty asked.

  “Sure. I’m undercover. I can do whatever I want.” Case sat on the tile floor in the bathroom, to the side of Krusty.

  He lit a joint and put it up to Krusty’s mouth so that he could take a hit. Case chatted with him about nothing. The more Krusty smoked, the less he seemed to care.

  Case had never smoked marijuana, but he knew the smell. He just watched Krusty. After about thirty minutes, Case changed the subject.

  “You know the woman and her baby you killed?”

  “Yeah. Like I said, man, it was an accident.”

  “That was my wife and son.” Case could feel his breathing deepen again. “You killed them, for what, some money?”

  Krusty didn’t sound alarmed at the new information. He casually answered Case. “Yeah, just the money. I didn’t know they were related to you. Sorry, man. Wow, that’s strange, isn’t it?” Then Krusty laughed with no malicious intent, just from the effects of the marijuana.

  He has no idea of my pain, and if he did, he wouldn’t care.

  Tears started rolling down Case’s face as he thought about his family. Krusty didn’t notice, even though his head lay on its left side, resting on the pink cover, looking right at Case. Krusty was on his second joint. Case just kept feeding him as long as he’d smoke it. Case found it odd that he was sitting so close, within a foot or two of the murderer of his wife and son.

  Patience.

  He wanted to move Krusty to the plastic-covered room to give him the heroin overdose. First, though, Case went out to get the heroin ready. Then he came back to get the now-high Krusty.

  “Want to move to the other room?” Case asked. He was holding back—he felt like a lion wanting to tear Krusty apart and shred him with sharp canine teeth. He wanted Krusty to scream in pain.

  “Damn, yes, get these cuffs off me. I gotta piss,” Krusty said.

  Case handed him the cuffs’ key and stepped back with his Glock aimed at Krusty.

  Krusty t
ook the cuffs off both his hands. “Shit, I’m stiff.” Krusty stood up and steadied himself with one hand, then stretched.

  “Put the cuffs back on,” Case said.

  “Fuck, no,” Krusty said.

  “Put them on.”

  “No, I gotta piss.” He fumbled to get his fly open, then took a racehorse piss and zipped up.

  Case wished Krusty was wearing the cuffs, but he seemed so high, it might be harder to get them back on than to just shuffle him into the other room. “Okay, let’s go. Down the hall and then to your left.”

  As they rounded the corner, Krusty grabbed a lamp and swung it at Case. It smashed against his hand. He lost his Glock and Krusty tackled him. Case went for his pistol, but Krusty shoved him. Case’s head slammed into the plasterboard wall.

  He kicked his pistol out of Krusty’s reach. Krusty chased the pistol, stumbling as he did, but Case saw he’d probably get the gun in his hand before Case could get to him. Case ducked behind furniture, moving toward the syringe he’d prepared with the heroin. Krusty shot twice with Case’s Glock. Case grabbed the syringe and ran from the room. Krusty chased him on unsteady legs.

  Case hid around the corner and waited to see if Krusty would enter the room. He did, and Case lunged at him with a double focus—to jam the syringe into Krusty’s neck and to use his other hand to grab Krusty’s gun hand.

  Krusty was surprisingly quick. He grabbed Case’s wrist above the hand holding the syringe while Case grasped Krusty’s wrist above the hand holding the Glock.

  The two men faced each other.

  Krusty was turning both of Case’s wrists toward Case’s head.

  Shit, he’s strong.

  A gun and a heroin-filled syringe were both turning toward Case in slow motion. Their faces were a few inches away from each other. Case saw Krusty’s dilated black-hole eyes with a rim of brown and a big, victorious smile.