Death Notice

by Lolli Powell

  DEATH NOTICE

  by Lolli Powell

  Copyright 2020 Laurel Heidtman

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  All characters and locations in this work are fictional. Any resemblance to living persons or places is purely coincidental.

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  Cover from: SelfPubBookCovers.com/ thrillerauthor

  This book is dedicated to all the real life law enforcement officers who put themselves in danger every day so we don't have to be.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  CHAPTER 62

  CHAPTER 63

  About the Author

  Other books by this author

  CHAPTER 1

  Murder fascinates people.

  Not the run-of-the-mill murders you see every night on the local news where a jealous husband kills his estranged wife or a nervous armed robber with a twitchy, trigger finger mows down a clerk. But serial murders, the ability of one human being to methodically and repeatedly take the life of another as a kind of hobby? Now that’s fascinating. As Jen Dillon looked around the chief’s conference room, she saw that fascination on the faces of the police officers seated and standing. We’re no different from the average Joe Citizen, she thought. Fascinated, scared, and feeling like we’re in the middle of one of our favorite TV crime shows.

  Only this wasn’t make-believe. This was real people dying, and it was their responsibility to stop it. So far, they hadn’t been successful—hence, the newly formed Task Force.

  The room meant for no more than ten was almost too small to accommodate the over twenty officers from the city, county, and several surrounding municipalities. Jen squeezed through the officers standing between the walls and the seated officers at the table.

  “Thanks for saving me a seat.” She slipped into the chair at the far end of the oval conference table and next to her friend and fellow detective, Jamie Mitchell.

  “I didn’t think you were going to make it in time.”

  “I had to drop Brandon off.” Jen nodded a hello to her sergeant, Lonnie Stephens, who was seated halfway around the table. “Have you ever tackled traffic outside a middle school at this hour?”

  “Fortunately I’ve never had the pleasure.”

  Jamie made no secret of the fact that she enjoyed being childless and intended to remain that way. At times Jen envied her, but she knew she wouldn’t trade her son for all the freedom in the world. It had been difficult raising him on her own after Jake’s death, but he had been a source of strength for her as well.

  “Believe me, you haven’t lived. Those mothers can be ruthless, and so can school bus drivers. There’s Al. He’s running later than me.”

  She waved at her partner of over two years. Al Williams was in his late fifties and had been a detective for eighteen years. He’d been born a chauvinist and swore he’d never be partnered with a woman. Two years ago, Lonnie had paired them, and the results had been surprising. They were one of the most productive teams in the city’s detective section.

  Although they hadn’t been too productive on the current case.

  They had worked the Edwards killing that had occurred two weeks ago, the second in what the department and surrounding agencies believed was the work of a particularly vicious serial killer. So far the two of them had done no better than the deputies had with the first killing that had taken place at a farmhouse in the county over six weeks before.

  Jen smiled at Al as he made a place for himself behind their chairs.

  “If I hadn’t gotten here so late myself, I’d have saved you a chair.

  “You could always do the ladylike thing and give yours up to this old man.”

  “Sorry. I never did have much respect for my elders.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” Al ran his fingers around his shirt collar in an attempt to loosen it and the tie. “Is it hot in here, or is it me?”

  “You think it’s hot now,” Jamie said. “Wait till the chief and the federal boys get here. They’ll be blowing so much hot air, you’ll think you walked into a blast furnace.”

  “Federal boys?” Jen said. “Who said anything about the feds?”

  “You mean you haven’t heard? The FBI’s in on this now.”

  “We were off yesterday. First time since Edwards, but Lonnie insisted we take a break. This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “Lonnie called me last night,” Al said. “I tried you till ten, then I went to bed.”

  “Brandon and I went to a movie, then got something to eat. Did you leave a message?” She waved her hand. “Forget I asked that. One of these days, Al, you’re going to have to make the move into the 21st century. So when did this happen?”

  “From what I hear,” Jamie said, “the feds got in touch with Buchan yesterday morning and insisted on getting involved.”

  “They called him? Why? So far the killer hasn’t crossed any state lines with his victims. And as far as we know, there’s only been the two killings. I know that’s enough for the feds to consider it serial, but still…”

  “Apparently his M.O. fits one of a serial killer that the FBI has dealt with in the past.”

  “They think it might be the same one?” Jen felt a chill run up her back. Two women killed by a monster were two too many, but if they weren’t his first, that meant he knew what he was doing. Although neither Al nor Jen relished the idea of the feds solving their crimes for them, they would willingly accept that humiliation if it meant stopping the madman who had shown up on their doorstep. The alternative was too awful to consider.

  “I don’t know,” Jamie said. “That’s all I heard, and I’m not sure how much of that is reliable information.”

  The door leading to the chief’s office opened. Stanley Buchan and two other men entered, moving toward the three chairs that
had been reserved for them at the opposite end of the table from Jen and Jamie. The chief was puffed up like a rooster with his own importance, talking animatedly with the two agents. While most officers resented federal agencies moving in on their territory, Jen knew that Buchan welcomed the involvement because the FBI made for increased media interest.

  Buchan had become chief three years before, the first to be hired from outside the department rather than promoted from within. Jen supposed that under the best of circumstances he would have been resented, since most of the officers believed the chief should be promoted from within the ranks. But by the same reasoning, she doubted Buchan would have been liked even if he had reached the office that way.

  Now in his late forties, Buchan made it clear by his actions that he considered the position a steppingstone to something better. Most of the officers on the department wished him well in his quest for a juicier plum. His success would mean they could be rid of him and his posturing that much sooner.

  The murmuring in the room dropped a decibel as the officers turned their attention to the two men with Buchan. There was a subtle shifting of posture among them that Jen doubted a civilian would notice. It was the reaction of territorial animals to a stranger invading their turf.

  The agent on Buchan’s right looked regulation-issue FBI. He was in his late twenties or early thirties, clean-shaven, hair a nondescript brown cut short over the ears and neck. He wore a conservative blue suit and gray tie. He looked more like an accountant than a federal law enforcement officer, and Jen knew there was a good chance that was just what he’d been before joining the FBI. The federal agency preferred their people to come from accounting and law backgrounds rather than from other police agencies.

  The man on Buchan’s left, however, presented an entirely different picture. He was tall, well over six feet, and Jen guessed him to be in his late thirties or early forties. He had thick black hair cut as short as the other agent, but the cut didn’t hide the waviness that would have been unruly if allowed to grow longer. Even with the cut, one wave threatened to fall rakishly over his forehead.

  That body ought to be outlawed, she thought. His muscular shoulders and chest strained at the seams of his gray pinstriped suit jacket. He had pulled his pale blue tie loose at the collar, and the top button of his white shirt was open, revealing tan skin and just a hint of chest hair. His chest tapered down to a trim waist and flat abdomen.

  He was turned slightly toward the chief and had one hand in his pants pocket, a position that held his jacket back, allowing Jen to see that his pants fit snugly over a well-shaped bottom. In fact, she thought, letting her eyes play over the curves of his buttocks, those just might be the nicest buns I’ve seen in a while.

  “The temperature in this room just jumped twenty degrees,” Jamie whispered at her side. “Is that a hunk or is that a hunk?”

  “That’s a hunk,” Jen confirmed. “Too bad he’s a fed.”

  “Nobody’s perfect,” Jamie murmured.

  Jen’s eyes moved slowly up to the man’s face. He was listening to something the chief was saying, his eyes downcast and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly in a close-lipped smile. Something about that smile told Jen that the federal agent was not impressed with Stanley Buchan, that in fact he probably considered the man a fool. The expression was in sharp contrast to the studied seriousness of the younger agent’s face as he listened to the chief. Jen wondered how the tall man had become a fed to begin with, since they were not noted for their independence or rebelliousness, and this man radiated both.

  He radiated one other thing as well. Sex appeal. Of a very dangerous kind.

  As she watched him listening to the chief, he lifted his gaze and his eyes locked on hers. They were blue, like his tie, an icy clear Paul Newman blue. His smile changed slightly, and she knew he was no longer listening to the chief’s inane comments.

  They stared at one another for what seemed an eternity, but Jen knew could only have been a few seconds. Her breath quickened, and her body grew warm in response to the message emanating from the man. The attraction between them was like an electrical charge sizzling its way across the length of the conference table, and she wouldn’t have been surprised to see a burn mark appear in the wood.

  Her lips parted in an effort to draw in more air, and she felt her nipples come to attention as his gaze moved over what he could see of her body above the table. Then his eyes met hers again, and he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, his lips still curved in that maddening half smile. Buchan chose that moment to turn and speak to him directly. He looked away from her to respond, and the connection was broken.

  Her breath whooshed out in a little gasp. Her legs were trembling with weakness, and she was thankful she was sitting down. No, she corrected herself, that’s not weakness. That’s plain old-fashioned lust, something she hadn’t felt in so long that she almost didn’t recognize it.

  “Whoa, girl,” Jamie whispered. “I think the hunk has the hots for you.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Jen shot back, a little too sharply.

  “Who’s being silly? Anybody watching could see it on his face. Yours, too, for that matter.”

  Jen looked around the room, feeling her cheeks grow warm. Police officers could be vicious with their teasing. She had been the brunt of it herself on more than one occasion and had occasionally returned it in kind. Considering the way most cops felt about the feds, she didn’t relish the thought of being teased about flirting with an FBI guy.

  She relaxed when she saw that most of the officers were talking amongst themselves. Then her eyes connected with her sergeant’s, and she saw him smile knowingly. Of all people to have noticed, he was the worst. She knew she’d have to listen to a lot of crap over the next several days. Of course, they did have a couple of murders to solve. Maybe that would distract Lonnie from teasing her.

  Buchan motioned the two agents to seats but remained standing himself. He was a big man, solidly built, and he commanded attention due both to his size and his practiced air of authority. The murmuring among the officers ceased as Buchan looked around the room.

  “We all know why we’re here.” His voice boomed in the close confines of the room. “We’ve had two murders of young women over the past month and a half that we believe to be the work of the same man.”

  He picked up a sheaf of papers from the table.

  “Most of you are probably already familiar with the killings, but I’ll go over the basic details just to be sure we’re all up to speed. If any of you feel you don’t know the cases backwards and forwards, I suggest you get copies of the initial reports and the follow-ups.

  “The first killing took place in the county’s jurisdiction at 29316 County Line Road. The victim’s name was Judy Sams, a twenty-three year old white female. She was recently divorced, no children, lived alone, and worked as an administrative assistant at Huntington Steel. The killer apparently broke into her house while she was sleeping, hogtied her to the bed with utility rope, tied a pillowcase over her head—securing it with a black satin ribbon—and cut her throat. There were indications he beat her before killing her.”

  Indications. Talk about a euphemism, Jen thought, remembering the pictures and descriptions of the torture Judy Sams had suffered before she died. Carla Edwards had suffered the same kind of torture four weeks later, only Jen had been unable to just look at the pictures of it. She’d had to witness it firsthand, and it would haunt her nightmares for as long as she lived.

  “The second killing,” Buchan continued, “occurred in the city in Colony Manor Apartments on Drexell Boulevard. The victim was Carla Jean Edwards, a twenty-nine-year-old divorced white female. Taught third grade at Lincoln Elementary downtown. She also lived alone, and again, it looks as if the killer broke in while she was sleeping.”

  Buchan stopped to take a sip from the bottled water in front of him. Jen had been avoiding looking at the hunk federal agent, but now she risked a glance. He was looki
ng at some papers in a folder on the table before him, his brow wrinkled in a frown as he concentrated on what he was reading. Beneath the folder and the papers was another folder. Jen guessed they were copies of the murder files.

  As she watched, he tugged at his collar as Al had done. Apparently he was no more comfortable in a suit and tie than her partner. Funny, when you thought about it, since most FBI agents she had met looked as if they had been birthed in a suit and tie and never got either one dirty.

  “The same M.O. was used,” Buchan said, “right down to the utility rope, pillowcase and black satin ribbon, all of which you can buy at Amazon or Walmart or twenty other places. Again, the cause of death was her throat being cut, and again there were signs of a severe beating prior to death. There was no evidence of sexual assault in either case.”

  The chief looked at Lonnie and the handsome dark-skinned man seated next to him.

  “This is Detective Sergeant Lonnie Stephens from our department.”

  He gestured to Jen’s balding middle-aged boss. Lonnie stood briefly and nodded to the gathering.

  “Lonnie’s been in charge of the investigation of the Edwards murder. Lieutenant Mike Hardesty has been running the county’s investigation of the Sams killing. Mike will be directing the day-to-day operation of the Task Force, reporting, of course, to the sheriff and myself.”

  Hardesty stood as Lonnie had done, nodded at the gathered officers, and resumed his seat. Jen knew that many considered Hardesty likely to be the first black sheriff of the county in the not-too-distant future. He was a political animal, focused on his ambitions and good at the games necessary to bring them to fruition. Fortunately, he was also a good cop.

  Buchan introduced the county detectives who had worked the Sams killing under Hardesty’s direction, then turned to Al and her.

  “Lonnie’s had two of our best detectives working the Edwards case. Al Williams is standing in the back there, and Jen Dillon is seated right in front of him.”

  Jen half-stood and nodded to the group. As she resumed her seat, her eyes strayed back to the blue-eyed fed. He had stopped reading the files and was staring at her again, his sexual interest as obvious this time as it had been before. She averted her gaze quickly. Her face felt warm, and she knew she must be flushing. She could only hope the cops gathered in the room would assume it was embarrassment at being singled out for an introduction.