Lecter was indeed perceptive. The printout I had found on Alton Farrell’s desk was a birth record from a private clinic. The mother’s name was listed as Cecilia Reiner, the estranged wife of Alton Farrell. Emma Sands’ body was exhumed and a postmortem paternity test confirmed the identity of her biological father: Seamus Cronan Hartley.
Crippled and abandoned by his wife, Alton Farrell had grown progressively more insane. He discovered Emma’s true identity and vowed to eradicate any trace of his wife’s union with Hartley.
Hartley hired Quinlan to protect Emma, and Quinlan fell in love with her. He murdered Alton Farrell for taking her life. Blick died as part of Quinlan’s vendetta—Steve Farrell and Chang were also on his hit list, anyone connected to Alton Farrell.
Quinlan found another bright attorney, but was not able to beat the charges against him. He tried to barter information for reduced sentencing but the judge threw the book at him all the same. We learned that he had known Hartley for many years. Cecilia had told Hartley that she had noticed a man watching her on a few occasions. As a criminal defense attorney, Hartley had several good investigators at his disposal. They discovered that Cecilia was being watched by Max Blick, who was working for Alton Farrell. It was just the tip of the iceberg. He soon unearthed Alton Farrell’s true intentions. Emma’s life was in jeopardy.
Cecilia never forgave herself for causing the tragic accident that cost Alton the use of his legs and ultimately his sanity. The accident happened when she’d just learned she was pregnant and shouldn’t have been driving in her state of shock. She couldn’t bear the guilt of the accident she had caused and the reality of having another man’s child. She left to begin a new life, a life that would not remind her of her sins. Her loving son waited more than two decades to learn why his mother had deserted him.
I looked over at Lecter. He seemed pensive. Penny for your thoughts, tall dark and sinister.
“You’re not sharing, Detective,” Lecter said. “I can’t read your thoughts.”
“Forgive me, Dr. Lecter. I’ll send you a copy of the case file.”
“That’s not acceptable, Detective. Now please. I’d like to hear the details of the case now.”
Lecter must have known that he was no match for Ma. I spotted her making her way back toward us. Lecter’s voice was gone. His gaze turned cold.
“God, all this walking around made me hungry,” Ma said. “How about we go home, and I make us some dinner?” She turned to Lecter. “Now that’s a scary son of a bitch. How’d you like to bump into him on your way to bingo night at the church?”
“I’ll pass. I’m not turned on by a guy who’s only interested in me for my caloric content.”
“That’s gross, Stephanie. How am I supposed to prepare food after a comment like that?”
“I can cook tonight.”
“Oh, um, that’s okay,” Ma said teasingly. “Or we could eat out. How about pizza?”
“Pizza works,” I said happily. Pizza always works. Pizza is the universal cure for anything: hunger, frustration, relationship problems … acne. You name it and pizza will fix it. I hear it has even been prescribed once or twice as a remedy for hammertoe. “I know a great place on 63rd Street. The owner has the personality of wallpaper, but the sauce is to die for and the house wine is—”
Ma cut me off. “Enough, Stephanie. I’m sold. Let’s go.”
The sky began to darken as we walked uptown. Within a few minutes, night had descended upon us and the full moon glowed with a brilliant intensity, a beacon to guide us until the sun returned in the morning. We all see what we want to see, whether it’s the face of Jesus in a formation of clouds or Albert Einstein in the skillet marks on a grilled cheese sandwich. I looked up at the moon and saw my father looking down at us. Watching him watching us made me happy and sad at the same time. The scientific explanation is that the man in the moon is nothing more than an illusion, areas of varying relief on the surface of the moon, the contrast of light and shadow. That may be true, or perhaps what we see is really there. That’s what I wanted to believe—that my father was watching over us, and for a brief moment, we were once again safely in his care.
~~~
I hope you enjoyed First Kill. The Back Stories are fast-paced and concise. If you’re looking for more, the next one is just around the corner. I’d love to hear what you thought about First Kill. Please write to me directly at [email protected].
Stephanie Chalice will return very soon.
Full Length Stephanie Chalice Mysteries
Don’t Close Your Eyes
Ransom Beach
The Brain Vault
Our Honored Dead
About the author
A resident New Yorker, Kelter often uses Manhattan and Long Island as backdrops for his stories. He is the author of the Stephanie Chalice Mystery Series and other works of fiction.
Early in his writing career, he received support from bestselling novelist, Nelson DeMille, who reviewed his work and actually put pencil to paper to assist in the editing of the first novel. DeMille said, “Lawrence Kelter is an exciting new novelist, who reminds me of an early Robert Ludlum.”
His novels are quickly paced and feature a twist ending.
For more information, please visit the author at: lawrencekelter.com or email at: [email protected].
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
About the author
First Kill Page 8
