BookCover
DEAD MAN’S JUSTICE
- A Place of Evil
by
Gregory Stenson
Copyright Gregory Stenson, 2012
ISBN 978-1-4762-842-9
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Dedication
For Carlene
Acknowledgements
I would like to express my thanks and indebtedness to Barbara Evans and Gerry Shaw who gave of their time and expertise to edit and proof read my novel, such as it was.
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Table of Contents
Book Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Part_One
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
Part_Two
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
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
About the Author
Author’s Note
The Seventh Island
Coming Soon
Prologue
‘Daddy...I need you. Where are you? Why am I lying in this bed? I’m naked.’
Since accepting a lift to the TV station from the kind lady for an interview about her prize-winning poem, she could remember nothing. Sitting next to her in the back seat of the large black SUV was the last thing that she could recall.
Through blurry, half-open eyes the pretty teenage girl didn’t recognize the room and couldn’t remember how she had got there. It wasn’t her bedroom.
It wasn’t really like a bedroom at all. She could make out a flat-screen TV set sitting on a counter with a picture hanging above it and struggling to turn her head she saw light coming from what looked like a bathroom. She thought for a split second she could see a shadow, very briefly, in the steamed-up mirror above the basin. It was taking all of her energy and effort to stay awake. There was someone in the bathroom. Her eyes were so heavy. They closed again.
A little later, maybe a long time later she had no idea, a beam of sunlight sliced through a chink in the drapes and bathed her face in warmth but it disappeared for the briefest of moments before the warmth returned again. Someone was walking around the room.
She tried desperately to open her eyes but couldn’t, she could only hear and feel footsteps coming towards her, vibrations in the floor resonated up through the bed.
‘What am I doing here? Daddy why are you always so far away from me? I need you Daddy. I need you,’ she said over and over to herself. ‘I’m scared Daddy.’
From the heaviness of the footsteps and the occasional cough, the young girl thought the person in the room must be a man. She felt a hand on her body. A tremor of sheer terror shot through her and yet she could do nothing.
‘D-a-d-d-y!! Someone is pulling back the sheets…’
Part One
Dead Man’s Justice
Chapter 1
Brad Stone felt relaxed for the first time in a very long time. He slept for the early part of the flight from Trinidad until a flight attendant nudged his arm waking him up, to offer him a drink of juice. He sipped it he leaned over and saw the beautiful light blue seas around the Bahamas islands. He sat back contented knowing that in a couple of hours he would be home in New York.
The gruesome events of the last month in Trinidad and St. Lucia invaded Stone’s thoughts, a slide show of the terror and depravity flashed across his eyes. Even the vision of his twelve-year-old daughter Laura’s welcoming smile couldn’t supplant the memory of Guy Randall’s bloody murder by his pool. The flashback would start at the same place each time, the gunshot ripping through the air and then the thudding sound of the bullet penetrating Guy Randall's chest. Guy was thrown backwards into the pool, his blood seeped out across the surface like a crimson blanket. Brad would then re-live the gut wrenching moments when his girlfriend Karla Shah was kidnapped and the feverish chase to find the island where she would drown unless rescued in time.
Stone needed to put the whole business behind him but first he was duty bound to attend Guy Randall’s funeral, and to deliver the dying man’s messages to his bereaved wife.
‘Ten minutes to landing,’ came the announcement and Stone looked out of the window and followed the New Jersey shoreline, he craned his neck to catch sight of the Empire State building on Long Island. He saw it and sank back into his seat. Minutes later the plane banked to the right over the Atlantic and made its approach into JFK. The plane landed safely with the usual screech and bump of tires on tarmac.
Stone cleared the last exit into the arrivals hall but stopped dead upon seeing an unexpected welcoming party. Detective Eduardo Ramirez of the NYPD stepped out in front of Stone and held up his badge.
‘Brad Stone?’ asked Ramirez. ‘You are under arrest for the murder of a Guy Randall.’
Stone tried to keep cool. There must be a mix up, he was sure that as soon as he told them the whole story they would release him. It was all a big mistake.
Wasn’t it?
Ramirez removed his shades and Stone met his unblinking steely-eyed stare. The eyes showed no emotion, if anything to Ramirez, Stone was already guilty. A little over five ten, Stone put Ramirez at about forty, his shiny cheap suit was hanging off his bony frame and his necktie was loose. He was ch
ewing on a matchstick that was spiraling around the corner of his mouth. His thick black hair was greased back. A little straggly quiff fell back across his forehead. He slid his shades back down over his eyes.
How did they know I was coming?
Stone dropped his cases to the floor and realized his world was about to change again. Seriously change. He was being arrested for murder, a murder he didn’t commit. Stone started to break out into a cold sweat. This wasn’t Trinidad, he thought, where his brush with the police was a frustrating irritation, dealing with the incompetence and corruption. This was the USA, his home, at least here you are innocent until proven guilty, he consoled himself, but as two uniformed officers started to cuff his wrists he was having second thoughts.
‘Handcuffs?’ said Stone. ‘Is that really necessary Detective? I mean I just got off of a plane, I couldn’t possibly have a weapon and I’m surrounded by armed officers so I’m hardly a flight risk,’ he pleaded.
Finch looked pensive and threw a glance to his senior partner who put his hands on his hips and looked Stone straight in the eyes. He turned towards Finch and gave a nod of approval. Finch waved his hand to the officers and they put the handcuffs back on their belts.
‘Don’t make me regret this,’ said Ramirez.
Detective Michael Finch, Ramirez’s younger partner, read the Miranda rights to Stone. Finch read from a card. His necktie was tied neatly; his suit more expensive and better fitting. His military style short-cropped blond hair belied his sympathetic demeanor. When he’d finished reading the rights he politely ushered Stone forward. The entourage of four heavily armed officers parted to allow Stone, Ramirez and Finch through, their automatic rifles cocked and pointed towards the ground, but ready for action.
Stone felt embarrassed as he was being led away, the spectacle had brought the arrivals hall to a standstill, businessmen with their overnight bags and holiday makers, their trolleys piled high with cases.
As Stone and the officers walked out of the hall to the waiting police cars, the crowd started to slowly disperse and returned to what they were doing. For them the show was over.
For Stone it was just beginning.
Chapter 2
‘Did you do it?’ The line from the Bahamas was crackly but Randy could just about hear his sister on his cell phone in Trinidad. He knew what Rachel wanted to know and he also knew just how intense his sister could get so he answered her quickly before she repeated herself loudly.
‘Yes I did it.’
‘Good. So the fax was sent. When was it sent?’
‘Yes I did it this morning, early, before he got on the plane.’
Since the day of the kidnapping of Karla Shah, Randy Parker-Brown had somehow avoided being implicated in the sordid events in St. Lucia. Under instructions from his sister, as usual, he’d managed to change the name on a fax that was dispatched to the New York Police Department, of the person wanted in connection with Guy Randall’s murder. He deftly erased the name of Chad Loman, who was the person wanted in connection with the fatal shooting, and substituted the name Bradley John Stone. Of course it helped that Randy was the son of the Police Chief and that from a young age he would sit in his father’s office to pass the time. Sometimes he would wear his father’s police hat, or pretend to use the phone and shuffle his papers around. The other officers knew him well; when he was older he would often run errands for his father or take calls and messages when he was out on an investigation or official duty. He had the perfect cover to be able to carry out Rachel’s devious demands. It was nothing new, she was always the boss, and Randy had watched her back since kindergarten.
‘Thanks bro I don’t know what I’d do without you. How’s Dad?’
‘He’s still getting over the shock of your phone call last week. So am I. He was organizing a memorial service for you when you called him out of the blue, no warning, nothing. You nearly killed him.’
‘I know, there was nothing else I could do, after the man rescued me from the beach, I was in a coma, his wife Martha took care of me. When I came round I couldn't remember anything, not even know my own name. It was almost two weeks until it all came back to me. Martha - she’s a nurse - said it was probably the swelling on my brain going down that gave me my memory back. As soon as I felt well enough I got on a flight to New York, and called Dad and you.’
‘Is that where you are now, back in New York?’
‘No. I’m in the Bahamas with this new guy, Samir Maloof. He’s a millionaire property manager for a Saudi billionaire businessman. He’s got a house on the beach at Old Fort Cay on New Providence Island. He also has apartments in New York, Paris and London. I’ll be back at my apartment tomorrow so I’ll call you then okay? And you can always get me on my cell phone, you know that.’
Ever since the failed kidnap when Brad Stone thwarted her callous attempt to murder Karla Shah, Rachel was determined to ruin his life and framing him for the murder of Guy Randall fitted the bill perfectly.
She had come across the name of Brad Stone, the wealthy American developer based in Trinidad, in an online article before leaving New York. She planned to con him out of his fortune but something went wrong, very wrong. She fell in love with him. When Stone rejected her advances she stalked him, sent malicious emails and texts and had numerous libelous articles about him placed in the national newspapers. Finally his continual rejection of her advances culminated in her conniving to have him arrested for attempting to murder her. Stone spent one night in the San Fernando police cells and was released the next day without charge.
Stone met and fell in love with Karla Shah, an architect, which incensed Rachel and she made repeated threats to kill her. Her raison d’être was, ‘If I can’t have him, nobody will have him.’
She kidnapped Karla.
When she had received the $2m ransom demand, Rachel didn’t release Karla. Instead she set Stone what she thought were three impossible riddles, and an equally impossible deadline of four hours, to find and rescue Karla from an island somewhere in the Caribbean. What she hadn’t anticipated however was that Stone and Mac, his business partner, and Hawk, a pilot buddy, would have the tenacity and ingenuity to break the coded riddles she had set him and find the island where she was being held captive. Karla was minutes away from drowning when Stone and Mac rescued her.
Rachel was never alone for very long. She didn’t have to try hard, her beauty and presence was noticeable in whatever surrounding. She always stood out. Not long after arriving back in her Central Park apartment she was invited to dinner by one of her neighbors in the building. At the dinner she was seated next to Samir Maloof, a wealthy Arabian businessman. Rachel didn’t waste the opportunity. She went to work. After a carefully orchestrated few days getting to know him, he invited her to his beach house in the Bahamas.
‘Okay sis, try to keep out of trouble this time. Are you sure you know what you're doing with Stone? What if he tracks you down, they might not hold him for long, I mean what evidence do they have?’
‘Not a chance, he’s going down for murder. Samir knows the cop working the case, some guy called Ramirez. He’s gonna fix it. This time I have him. Stay in touch bro, I might your need help again soon.’
‘You want me to come over? To New York I mean.’
‘Maybe, later, first I’ve got a lot to do, there’s someone I want to find, I’ll tell you about it later.’
‘Okay sis, later.’
Rachel closed the phone and left it on the living room table and stepped out onto the terrace where Maloof was sitting on a recliner by the pool. He was talking in Arabic to someone on the phone through a hands-free earpiece with a cigar in one hand, and a glass of whiskey in the other. The cigar hand was waving around as he expressed himself excitedly to his Saudi colleague. Rachel didn’t understand a word of the conversation. She walked towards her own lounger, removed her chiffon wrap and stretched out next to him.
Maloof finished his phone call. He tapped the button on the earpiece to swit
ch it off and took a long drag on his cigar. He blew the smoke up into the air and only then noticed that Rachel had returned to lie beside him.
‘Hi baby you were talking to your brother?’
‘Yeah, everything’s good.’
‘He changed the paperwork this morning?’
‘Yes, Stone was arrested when he arrived at JFK today. Ramirez has him in custody. It’s all going according to plan.’
Chapter 3
The icy cold December air slapped Stone’s face as he walked out of the airport terminal doors; he wasn’t dressed for the New York weather. He still had on a pair of knee length shorts and a short-sleeved cotton shirt. That morning he’d left his home in the Caribbean and also left clear blue skies and sun-soaked days. The grey snow-filled sky above his head seemed to reflect his rapidly deteriorating mood. The embers of Laura’s smile in his memory were fading, becoming dimmer by the second, he was determined to keep them burning.
Two officers, with their hands on Stone’s shoulders, guided him across the concrete forecourt. The other two officers carried his suitcases and hand luggage towards the waiting black and white. Ramirez reached his car and stood beside the rear doors. His trademark smirk almost broke into a sarcastic smile of achievement. The matchstick bobbed and weaved, coming perilously close to escaping, but somehow it survived.
Detective Finch followed them to the side of the car, his face a mixture of concentration and apprehension. Stone wondered how many years it would take Finch to grow his own smirk. He raced in front and opened the rear door and, as polite as ever, ushered Stone inside, holding out his hand to show the way.
DEAD MAN'S JUSTICE - A Place of Evil (Stone & McLeish Thriller Series of Stories Book 2) Page 1
