Urban Renewal (Urban Elite Book 1)

by Suzanne Steele

  I’m being given unprecedented access to be consulting on this case. They’re usually a tight knit group who are adamant about keeping outsiders – even if they used to be insiders -- out of the loop. Whether I like it or not, I’m an outsider now, even if my retirement is only a couple of days old. It’s going to take a while to re-establish the professional ties I’ve always taken for granted. Having Agent Turner on my side is a step in the right direction.

  “Scout’s honor, boss.”

  Most reporters would do just about anything to be in the loop on a case like this and I’m certain she doesn’t want to do anything to screw up the good thing she’s got going. Getting a reputation for not being a team player this early in her career would only hurt her. Even though she’s young, she’s got enough sense to know that.

  She follows behind me to the crime scene. I take in my surroundings: the standard yellow crime scene tape, a crime scene investigator kneeling down to examine the limb. Once again a riddle is scrawled in permanent black marker, but as I read along my stomach churns. This time the son of a bitch has made it personal.

  I mumble under my breath to Agent Turner, “Well, fuck me, would you look at that.” We exchange a look and both glance over at Max, who is staring down at the arm with wide eyes. I turn to speak to Turner and notice that he continues to stare at Max with narrowed eyes, and I can practically see the wheels turning in that guy’s mind. “Say, how did you know about Max’s blog before I had a chance to tell you myself?”

  “Seriously, Jack?” He bypasses the question and I know that is as much of an answer as I’m gonna get from this guy. “The issue at hand is that the leg belonged to a Caucasian woman but the owner of this arm was African-American.”

  Suddenly the conversation with Lady Luck the other night jumps to the forefront of my mind. “Dammit. You’re certain?” I ask.

  “At a glance, it seems pretty obvious to me, but, no, we won’t know for sure until the forensics team does the necessary tests. Consider that a preliminary finding; it’s too soon to know for sure.”

  “The other night, I had a conversation with one of the working girls on this side of town. She hadn’t heard from her friend, a black girl named Chineka. They normally check in with each other when they finish with a john but she hadn’t heard from her since the night before. She said it was highly unusual. She kind of brushed it off at first, thinking that maybe the girl had been into it with her pimp and was just laying low. But my gut’s telling me the girl’s not coming back and that we may be looking at all that’s left of her.”

  “She’s probably in the system. I’ll let you know what we turn up when we run the prints.”

  I focus my attention on the scrawled message that is clearly directed at Max.

  Your first limb was a leg and now you have an arm, you’re only beginning to experience my charm.

  This is not a game of Hide and Seek, neither is it a game for those who are weak.

  The question is, did I use a knife, saw, or axe? This will give you plenty to write about, my little Max.

  “Looks like our boy has already developed a fixation on your newest recruit, Jack.”

  I look over at Max, who doesn’t appear to be overly affected by the riddle, but I know better. I’ll go over it with her later when there aren’t so many prying eyes around.

  This time when Agent Turner speaks, his voice is grim and he directs his words at my trainee. “We’re going to use that to our advantage, and you’re going to help.”

  I take a deep breath and hope she’s ready for what’s coming. “Welcome to the big time, Max.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  His Offering

  She hasn’t contacted me…yet. So I think it only fitting that I go see her. Just to get a closer look. I yearn to know more about who she really is so I take up a discreet position at the crime scene. You can learn a lot about a person when you watch them in their element. It will also give me some insight into her boss and the other authorities working this case.

  It isn’t like I’ll draw anyone’s attention with the way I look—jeans and a hoodie, always jeans and a hoodie. I’m the perfect chameleon, just blending in to my environment. Of course, I’m not important enough to draw anyone’s attention. As far as the high and mighty are concerned, I’m just another homeless person to be ignored, aimlessly wandering the streets of downtown Louisville.

  Finding out who she was working for wasn’t hard at all, hell, it was right there in her blog title. All I had to do was google Urban Elite. After that I had not only her name, but her address. Seems she lives in a compound of private investigators in training, run by a retired cop—how quaint. A crime fighting commune of sorts, bent on cleaning up the streets of Louisville Kentucky, isn’t that sweet?

  We’ll see how sweet it is when they’re knee deep in blood, guts, and body parts. It won’t take long for the novelty to wear off as they realize how powerless they are against me. I’ll make certain of that.

  I close my eyes and revel in the rush of satisfaction that flows through me, so delicious in its heat. All these important people are gathered here at this crime scene because of little ol’ me. My Max is pretty in a tomboy kind of way. She stands out in jeans and a sweatshirt with her hair pulled back in a ponytail as she hands her boss a cup of coffee. He’s talking to another man in a suit who has clearly taken charge of things.

  I grab my cell phone and zoom in to get a few pictures. I work my way around in a leisurely circle so as not to draw attention to myself. When I’m finished piecing the pictures together later, I’ll have a panoramic view. I need to work quickly though. The last thing I need is for one of these guys to see me taking pictures. The dumpster across the street works nicely as cover.

  When I’m finished, I stroke the small box in my pocket and smile when I think of the note I’ve attached by a ribbon. One last look around and I discreetly step across the alley to leave a gift for my new friend.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jack

  “Hey, Jack, what’s the deal between Agent Turner and that partner of his? Are they fucking?”

  “Leave it to you to ask all the classy questions, Max. Are you really going to put me through an inquisition here about something that isn’t anybody’s business?”

  “Leave it to you to use big words for something that was nothing but a simple question.”

  I take a moment to glare down at her. My height of 6’1 trumps her 5’3 any day of the week. She squirms under my stare. “You look like you’re going to start growling at me, Jack.”

  “No, I save that for Valerie. To answer your question, off the record, yeah, they’re together. On the record, no. Now, if you print that or even insinuate it, I’ll fire your ass.”

  I know I’m being tough on the kid but I need these agents to work effectively in this town. Agent Turner holds a lot of power and crossing him isn’t a smart thing to do. I, of all people, know I’m an arrogant asshole, but I also know Max is zealous, and zeal with no wisdom is lethal. Whether she likes it or not, I’m her wisdom.

  “Officer Heitman.” I look up to see Agent Turner waving me over. I walk over to where he and Rene are bent down over the limb. He immediately begins filling me in. “It’s evident the body parts are from different people. As you already know we’re informally considering this case as the work of a serial killer. He hasn’t met all the criteria officially, but this isn’t the standard case and I don’t want it to get away from us.

  “You said you talked to a woman who stated she had a friend missing. Get back in touch with her and find out if she ever turned up.” He takes a pen and a small notebook out, “What’s the missing woman’s name?”

  “Chineka Howard.” I had already done a little checking on my own.

  “Hey, can’t y’all fingerprint it on that portable gadget y’all carry around?” I look over to see where the hillbilly twang is coming from. A uniformed officer is standing there with a big goofy grin on his face. What catches my attentio
n, though, is the contempt in Agent Turner’s voice. By the way the uniform officer is ogling his partner, Rene, it’s easy to see why Turner doesn’t like the guy.

  “Officer McGee, your job is crowd control, not forensics,” Agent Turner says in an ominously quiet voice.

  “Hey, Agent Murphy,” the clueless cop smiles as he greets Rene, ignoring Turner’s warning.

  “Hello, Officer McGee,” she replies in an impeccably neutral tone.

  I resist the urge to chuckle when Turner shoots him a look that really should have incinerated the guy. The uniform finally gets the hint and abruptly walks back over to guard the crime scene perimeter, which has quickly become overrun with curious onlookers – exactly what we didn’t want. Nice job, Officer Asshole.

  It’s just a matter of time before the media take an interest in what is quickly turning into a crime spree. We have an advantage and that’s the fact that we’re on scene behind the crime tape. Reporters can rubberneck to try and see what’s going on, but you can bet your ass if the sharks smell blood they will start circling.

  “He’s right, you know,” Herb declares quietly.

  “Fair enough, but I don’t want to do it here. Wait until you’re in a controlled environment.” Even though I can tell Turner’s not happy about the coroner concurring with the officer’s suggestion, he still responds respectfully—a far cry from how he spoke to the officer moments ago. “I want you going over the evidence with a fine tooth comb.”

  “You know I will.”

  With that said, we follow the agents from the crime scene toward our vehicles.

  “As soon as you talk to Lady Luck, I want to know, Jack…” Turner says, shaking my hand just as Max gasps and starts talking a mile a minute.

  “What the hell? Oh, my God, Jack, come here, look at this! This wasn’t here before.” She’s waving us over as she peers through the front passenger window of her car. There in the passenger seat is a small box tied with ribbon. My body stills with a sense of dread as I consider the possible sources of such a…gift.

  “Don’t touch it!” Agent Turner grabs gloves from his pocket, all but knocking the poor girl out of the way. He opens the car door, leans in and lifts it out. He removes a small piece of paper and reads aloud:

  “Rather than a game of Hide and Seek, a scavenger hunt is the havoc I wreak.

  If you truly want to get the facts,

  You would do well to contact me, my sweet crime blogger Max.

  I don’t think you realize how dangerous I can be.

  Please accept this simple gift – and fucking acknowledge me.

  “Wow, this guy’s a regular poet laureate, isn’t he?” Agent Turner mutters as he unties the ribbon on the small box. “Juvenile, really. And hostile. Not a good combination.”

  “That could be a ploy,” Agent Murphy says to her partner.

  “Well, one thing’s for sure, our guy was here today. I want to see the video that was taken of the crowd today. Our boy’s doing what serial killers love to do—inserting himself into our investigation.”

  He opens the box to reveal a bloody, severed ear. I look over at my trainee. She’s turned a nasty shade of green. “You okay, kiddo?”

  “I will be.”

  The question is, is the kid freaked by the sight of yet another severed body part, or the fact that a killer was in her car? Hell, maybe both. One thing’s for sure: she’ll be staying at the compound and I’ll be keeping a close eye on her. This guy has developed a fixation on my trainee and I don’t plan on letting him get close to her.

  Agent Turner’s eyes never leave the box as he speaks. “If I was a betting man, I’d say this is our third body and we are now on the trail of a serial killer. Of course, it won’t be declared officially until the coroner examines the body parts, so I’ll be using local resources for some of the initial evidence gathering. I don’t like it, but it’s protocol.”

  We walk over to my SUV and he turns to me with a tinge of manly regret in his eyes as he breaks the news, “I’m afraid we’ll need to take custody of Max’s vehicle – and yours, too -- long enough for local law enforcement to sweep them for possible DNA evidence and prints.”

  And with that, I know with certainty that retirement will mean jumping from the frying pan straight into the fire. It comes as no surprise, really. Just happened a lot sooner than I expected. I’m pulled from my thoughts as Max taps me on the arm. My shoulders sag when I see Valerie standing at her side with a fingerprint dusting kit. Which she obviously intends to use all over my new car.

  “Fucking hell.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  His Houseguest

  I straighten the cuffs on my tailored shirt, checking to make certain my cuff links are intact as I watch her through the window pane of the security door. It’s interesting to observe her as she shuffles on her knees with her arms secured behind her back, and blindfolded—the chains on her feet and wrists impeding any attempt to escape.

  This is a perfect example of why I’ve chosen her. Her hands are bruised and bloodied from her attempts at escape, her vision impaired by a blindfold and yet, still, she fights. When the chains stop her before she gets to the wall, I’m simply mesmerized.

  My cock stirs as I think about her predicament—the predicament of my making. She’s different than the others, it’s why I rescued her. Yes, her fighting spirit has definitely won me over. I knew she was special the moment I laid eyes on her. And every day since the day we met, it has become clear to me that I can never release her. Perhaps I’ll do away with the blindfold after all.

  My intrigue grows with each passing moment, just as Stockholm Syndrome draws her inexorably closer to me, whether she likes it or not. I think it’s safe to say she doesn’t like it…yet. But she’ll understand soon enough. We are two people in the same sea of fucked up dysfunction. We were born to come together for such a time as this.

  Her head jerks in the direction of the stairwell when she hears the door hinges creak. She stops, frantically twisting her body and looking around even though she’s blindfolded. I’m amused by her head swiveling back and forth as she tries to gain some sense of direction.

  “Who -- who’s there?” she rasps, her throat still recovering from those first days of rebellion. All the screaming and weeping. So glad that’s over. And I’m impressed she’s instinctively looking in my direction. She knows who’s here but her fear compels her to cry out for my identity anyway. Just to hear my voice.

  “Now, who else would be here, my love?” I gently answer as I approach her and pull the blindfold from her eyes. She blinks, unaccustomed to the light, even the small amount I allow in this darkened room. I stroke the soft skin of her wrists as I release them, only to fasten the cuffs again with her arms in front of her. A small gesture of trust that costs me nothing since she can’t possibly get out. I make my voice quite stern as I ask, “You weren’t trying to escape again, were you?”

  “No, no, please…” she whimpers.

  I reach down, grabbing her chin and squeezing. “Don’t. Lie. To. Me.”

  I release her chin and she sits back on her haunches with her palms turned up on her upper thigh, her head bowed. She has unwittingly assumed a pose of perfect submission. I tilt my head back and close my eyes, inhaling slowly as my cock surges to full attention. Her barely audible voice drags me reluctantly from my erotic reverie.

  “I’m dirty, hungry, lonely…” Her voice is soft as if she’s speaking to herself rather than to me.

  Hmm, my little fighter, she never said scared. Such fortitude should be rewarded.

  “If you’re a good little girl, perhaps we’ll discuss taking you somewhere else. Shall we say, a place that’s more appropriate, a bit more welcoming?”

  Somehow I doubt that she’ll be good this soon in the game. There’s an art to using Stockholm syndrome to one’s advantage—a true master of his craft cannot be rushed. I’m well aware my little captive doesn’t yet have it in her to truly be a good girl and not try to leave
me. “I do have to admit, little one, I wouldn’t be nearly as enthralled if you were a good girl all the time. Now crawl back over to your cot.”

  I saunter over to the small refrigerator and grab a bottled water and a pre-made sandwich. The drugs in the water will ensure she rests until I can make it back to her. Until then I’ll monitor the surveillance feed on my phone to ensure I have her in sight, always. “Hurry along now, I might have another…surgery…to perform today, so there’s much to be done. Always remember…time waits for no man.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jack

  I fucking hate fingerprint dust. Shit gets everywhere and is nearly impossible to get rid of completely. After an hour spent cussing a blue streak as I wipe down my car and help Max with hers, I insisted that she follow me back to the compound so we could park her car and she could ride with me. This case is hard for seasoned cops, it’s most certainly hard for a kid who’s just starting out.

  “Where are we headed?” she asks as she jumps in the car.

  “To talk to Lady Luck and see if she’s heard from her friend. Are you okay?”

  “I’m not going to say I’m not freaked out about finding a fucking ear in my car and knowing that it was put there by a batshit crazy serial killer – but, hey, I knew what I was signing on for. The way I see it, if you can’t stand the heat…”

  “Max, I understand you’ve put on your big girl panties, and I respect that. But if this is more than you bargained for, I can set you up to still do the crime blog but not go to the crime scenes…”

  “Oh, hell no. You asked me a question and I’ll always answer you honestly.” She looks at me before she continues, as if she’s debating what to say next. “Don’t make it where you’re so overprotective that I have to think twice about what to say to you. Oh, and on another note, please don’t tell my dad about the sick shit we’re seeing.”