Connection Terminated

by Edward Hancock II

  Connection Terminated

  EDWARD HANCOCK II

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 Edward Hancock II

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  ISBN-13: 978-1-493618-44-6

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my readers. The fans I lovingly call my E-listers. Your encouragement and support is what keeps me writing. Thank you all!

  Dear Readers—

  Before you begin this story, I wanted to prepare you for the adventure you are about to undertake. According to the Mendez Timeline, this story takes place in approximately 2005. Though this story takes place in a setting I like to refer to as “Alex’s own reality”, I do try to mirror events of our “real world” as closely as possible, without infringing on trademarks too often. That said, this story heavily involves the “cyber world”; that is to say, it involves the internet, IRC, mIRC, AOL and various other activities of the day which could be said to include things such as MySpace and Facebook, founded in 2003 and 2004 respectively.

  I say all of that to say this; throughout the book, there are scenes in which one or more characters are chatting in some sort of Internet chat room. For those who did not experience the early days of the internet, reading such chat can get confusing, as there are often more than 30 people carrying on multiple conversations at the same time. In the hopes of quelling confusion, I have tried to limit the number of chatters in any given scene. I’ve also done away with all but the most basic chat room shorthand. To help make the chat read a little more fluid, I’ll clue you in on something that might help even further. Everyone’s chat is preceded by his or her chat room “screen name.” For example, if I were chatting in a chat room, you might first see “EdwardHancockII:” and then whatever I typed next to that. As any chat room veteran will tell you, anytime you see a generic name, something akin to “User38741”, they are usually new to the chat room and, to be blunt, often ignored. I don’t wish to discuss the merits of chat room etiquette. Merely to explain how things typically go. Right or wrong, that is how things typically are. I’ve often described Internet Chat as akin to a cyber high school, with the generic names being treated as the “freshmen”. Just as the chatters do during the conversation, you can feel free to ignore the chats of various members named “User” followed by a series of numbers. They are primarily utilized for realism sake and hold little real value to the story as a whole. Having said that, you never know when I might decide to stick something of random importance in a part of the conversation I’ve just given you permission to ignore. I’m sneaky like that.

  There are also lines in bold, offset by dashes. These are to simulate the chat’s automated features such as announcing the arrival of new members. These can also be ignored, though they can also prove useful in introducing a new chatter to the scene. They help set the stage and frame the chat environment in its proper context.

  While I encourage everyone to read every word of my book, I understand that certain people may need a bit of a cheat. You want to get to the meat of the story and don’t wish to linger in the peas, carrots and potatoes. However, I also realize there are many readers out there who get the most out of every morsel they are fed. Do not, under any circumstances, skip the internet chats all together, as there could very well be certain nuggets of information that may help you enjoy the story all the more. Perhaps even revealing clues to later events.

  I hope this little tidbit helps. And for those who, like me, grew up in the peak of the Internet Chat era, you can feel free to forget you even read this. Just read the chats and enjoy. So, see? Whether you were a member of that generation or not, there’s something you can feel free to ignore. How’s that for taking care of my readers?

  All my best, E-Listers!

  Edward Hancock II

  Chapter 1

  Tuesday, October 11

  10:07 p.m.

  The hum of the engine excited her. One of the rare perks of an otherwise thankless occupation. She hadn’t been on the streets long, but even she knew that being picked up in a Jaguar was a rare treat. The car smelled new. And not that fake “new car” scent you get at car washes. No, this car smelled as if it were just off the showroom floor. Looked it too. Freshly waxed and polished. Not a speck of dust anywhere, so it would seem.

  “You hear about that gal that got killed the other night?” she asked, doing her best to make small talk. “Yeah, I knew her. Sweet girl, Josey. Fine woman. Didn’t deserve this life. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. Some people just ain’t right for it. She was too good. God made her for better things.”

  She chuckled to herself as she considered the irony of what she’d just said. Her career choice hadn’t been a childhood dream fulfilled. More, it had been an escape from the most horrific, not to mention Godless, man she’d ever known. No little girl ever grows up thinking about being a prostitute while Daddy bounces her happily on his knee. But, she sighed to herself, not every little girl was blessed with a great daddy.

  When she’d left Houston, she swore she’d make a better life for herself than a stripper. Now, a year later, she’d gone from “Looky, no touchy” to “Have it your way.” She wasn’t all that excited about feeling like a happy meal for a bunch of perverted boys in grown bodies, but bills had to be paid.

  It’s not that she didn’t believe in God. She’d just never been the patient type, so trusting in the time frame of some Being to which she’d never felt a sincere bond seemed foolish to her. Still, she’d always left herself open, should the Big Man Upstairs start to feel chatty. Like her current client, the Big Man Upstairs did not appear the chatty type.

  “Not much for talkin’, are ya, Babe?” she asked, trying to get her head in the right mood.

  When he didn’t reply, she reached over and touched the hand resting in his lap.

  “That’s okay, you don’t have to do much talkin’. It’s your dime, Babe. We can do whatever you want. What are we going to do?”

  There seemed to be the slightest of growls in the sigh he released.

  “I don’t usually meet guys over the internet,” she said, feigning a coy demeanor. “But I have a feeling it’ll be worth it just this once.”

  Her red dress had been specifically designed for the game of seduction. Seduction was, after all, her job. Unlike most nights, this seduction was different. She wasn’t much on meeting clients online, but this one had been the charmer. Not overly chatty, he’d won her more by presentation than anything. By what he said he was, more than what he said. Let alone how he said it. His voice was almost squeaky. But in possession of a slight gurgle. Not the stuff of dreams, to be sure.

  He’d told her that he was thirty-five and athletic. Though he’d been able to color his receding hairline, he’d not been able to mask the thin build. Perhaps, she thought, he was a marathon runner.

  When he’d first picked her up, he’d been very subtle when asking how much. Unlike his current demeanor, he’d started off more like the man with whom she’d chatted online. Surprisingly, he hadn’t so much as flinched when she’d announced a rate that was triple what she’d mentioned in IM’s. That alone excused any misinfo
rmation on his part. It might have also explained the sudden silence.

  Occasionally, clients took her to dinner first. Those with money, who wanted the illusion of having a life outside of their ivory tower office buildings. Most wanted to head straight for a motel and get right to it. For all his mystery, this one definitely seemed different. She wasn’t sure where they were headed, but there weren’t any motels nearby and the closest restaurant had closed an hour ago.

  He’d gone to a part of town she didn’t know very well. There were dark and windy roads – mostly oil-topped – that twisted, turned and intersected seemingly at random. Of course, there wasn’t much to see at the high rate of speed they traveled. Thirty-five or not, he knew how to handle a vehicle, she thought to herself.

  “Baby,” she said, “I—I think I’m the one in for the treat.” She laughed and, despite the thick blackness that hung over the night, she cast the most hungered look she could in his direction. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she caught the slightest hint of a grin creeping across his stubbled face.

  She let her mind wander to a time not so long ago. A time before she’d entered her current occupation. A time when the teenage version of her former self had been allowed to believe the one and only man she’d ever known (in that most biblical sense) had convinced her he loved her. Perhaps he had. Either way he was the first and, up to that point, only man who’d spent any time on anything resembling romance. As she imagined being taken out to an open field, filled with blooming flowers, strategically-positioned next to a babbling brook, she let herself believe that, maybe this one would be different. Maybe once she’d find something she could hold on to. Maybe, she thought to herself, God was answering her nightly requests to be loved completely and unconditionally.

  Aside from the stray cat, which she’d named Romeo, the feeling of unconditional love seemed, for her at least, to be a pipe dream. She’d allowed Romeo to adopt her, mostly because he was the only man that ever snuggled with her and didn’t want something in return. Unless you count the occasional belly rub, which she was more than obliged to offer.

  Caressing his hand, she felt a palpable change in blood pressure of the man she knew only by his online moniker. His palms warmed at her touch, but didn’t perspire. His long fingers seemed far too calloused for the white-collar riches he’d represented. Even without squeezing her hand in his, Sunshine knew the man in the driver’s seat was – would be – deceptively powerful. Rhett Butler kind of powerful. And she, the willing Scarlet O’Hara.

  She let go an involuntary squeal, causing him to divert his attention momentarily from the road ahead.

  “Sugar, you gonna tell me your name at least?” she screamed. “How much farther we got to go?”

  As if answering her, he slowed the Jaguar. Making sure there was no one around, he pulled the car over to the side of the road. Her eyes brightened. It was dark. She couldn’t see much, but she noticed a clearing in the woods nearby. Maybe, she thought, just maybe, she’d get to play the part of Scarlet O’Hara after all.

  Involuntary as it was, she let her mind wander to images of a moonlit picnic. One that would ultimately mark the beginning of a new life and, more importantly, an end to the old one.

  Killing the car, he took the keys from the ignition and exited, without so much as a word. Sunshine surveyed the surroundings. It couldn’t be any more out of the way. Suddenly, her excitement turned to trepidation. She looked around, felt the car shimmy – as much from a sudden wind gust as from the fact he’d bumped it – and caught sight of him just as he rounded the back of the car. Stopping only momentarily to open the trunk, he soon appeared at the passenger door.

  As he opened her door, Sunshine looked into the eyes of a man much different than the one she’d met. Something transformed. Darkness can often play tricks on the human mind. But, she knew all too well, darkness can also bring out the devil that lay dormant in some people during the daylight hours.

  Something in his eyes. Something of a twinkle that was anything but merry. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.

  “Oh quit being a baby,” she whispered to herself, exiting the car.

  Without saying a word, he motioned toward the small hiking path. His gesture was almost chivalrous. Again, the Rhett Butler image took over, setting her at ease. As she walked ahead, he placed a gentle arm on her shoulder. Instinctively, she took hold of his hand, welcoming the warmth of his touch.

  “So, what do I call you?”

  Still smiling, the image of Rhett Butler followed her into the darkness, along with the bitter smell of whatever was on the rag he placed over her face.

  Chapter 2

  Wednesday, October 12

  1:13 a.m.

  A second body in three days. This one, equally-mutilated as the last. Unlike the last, this one had been clearly his to investigate.

  Found in a wooded area on the outskirts of Longview, Alex had spent much of the last two days arguing over simple jurisdiction of the first body. Two other local police departments relented if only due to the weight of Alex’s point that the resources of Longview’s police force, while hardly endless, far exceeded the typical budget of smaller surrounding towns. Having a friend as a former FBI agent didn’t exactly hurt either.

  Now, standing over the body of victim number two, found in a wooded area less than a mile from victim number 1, Alex had begun to question the fervor with which he’d battled for the rights to investigate this case.

  “Victim’s name is Gloria Hines. Twenty-two years old. On the street, she’s known as Sunshine.” Officer Reggie Brooks read the vital stats like he was reading a warehouse inventory. More than once, Alex had resisted the urge to chide the young officer for attempting to show professionalism in the face of such gruesomeness. But, Alex realized, that was necessary. Most cops had learned to detach. In all of his years, Alex had never really learned to detach. Not for real. Not completely. Alex could only guess Reggie Brooks had not yet learned it, but was trying to give the impression of having done so.

  “Five foot four, 100 lbs. Looks short, even for 5’4. Two arrests for prostitution. Last was three months ago. More recent bust for possession.”

  “Possession of what? How recent?” Alex asked, bending down to get a better look at the victim. Around him, various flashes and clicks confirmed that at least three officers were taking photos of the crime.

  Flipping through his report, Brooks mumbled to himself, “Looks like the hard stuff. Coke, Heroin. Multiple hard drugs. Needles, the whole deal. About two weeks ago, looks like. M.E. will check her to see if she’s got any of it in her system tonight.”

  “I doubt she’ll find anything in this one.” Alex said, eliciting an inquisitive stare from Brooks. “A gut feeling, Reg. That’s all. By the time you’ve been on the force this long, you’ll make those assumptions too. And you’ll learn to give voice to them without giving them too much thought. You voice them so that they’re not eating at you. Then you move on. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. Won’t amount to a hill of beans because opinions are not facts. You have to follow the facts, but the facts usually match up to the gut, after a while. Not always, mind you, but usually. You get the gut by being wrong, truth be told.”

  Reggie Brooks’ confusion did not seem to waiver.

  “But never, under any circumstances, let the gut outweigh the need for facts.” Alex continued, “We don’t solve cases by feelings. We solve them by facts. Feelings guide us, but we call that experience. There will be times where experience will work against you. Embrace experience as it comes. But follow the facts. Gut feelings don’t hold up in court.”

  “Would you say you solved the Kramer case by facts?” Brooks asked.

  “There are always exceptions, Reg. And if you want the real story there, the Kramer case was solved on two things. Luck on my part and brazen ignorance on the part of a very disturbed person. Occasionally, you get one like that. Occasionally, they want to get caught, even if they don’t realize it. Ego gets them i
n trouble. It’s like the ability to keep a secret is either not in them or just too underdeveloped that they have to own up to their crimes. But if you judge all police work by that one case, you’ll be a very frustrated cop. In all my years, I can count on one hand the number of cases that have turned out that way. And I promise I’ll have fingers left when I’m done.”

  A gentle breeze kicked up, causing the stench of death to fill Alex’s nostrils. Staring up at Reggie Brooks, Alex pointed him away from the immediate area.

  “If you need to puke, do it over there, Reg. Don’t want you contaminating my crime scene your first week on the job.”

  “I’m fine, Cap.” Brooks said, though obviously struggling to hold his breath as he spoke. As he ran away, Alex thought he heard him mumble, “No, I’m not.”

  Directing his attention back to Gloria Hines, Alex adjusted his latex gloves to make sure he wasn’t going to do what he’d just asked Brooks not to do. Careful, he reached out to examine her head and neck. “No noticeable lacerations to the scalp or temporal regions. Closer examination needed once body is removed from scene,” he noted in his hand-held recorder. “Ligatures on the wrists and neck suggest she had been bound. Hard to tell in this dim light, but wrist ligatures look as if they are pre-mortem. Autopsy will confirm.”

  Careful not to disturb the body, he noted the deep lacerations in her wrist area.

  “Victim was nailed between two trees, arms stretched out, crucifixion style. Nails appear new. Penetrate palms. Possibly pre-mortem. Note to self: Have Reggie track down the nails. See if they were purchased recently, locally. If so, by whom. Blood pooling and coagulation suggests fairly recent time of death. Victim found seated on the ground. Wearing bottom undergarments. Ankles crossed, similarly showing previous ligatures. Victim’s knees are slightly bent to allow feet to be nailed to nearby stump. Daylight examination of stump will determine if tree was recently cut down. As of now, looks to be coincidence.”