BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6

by John W. Mefford

  If he didn’t want to kill her so badly, he’d jump out of his clandestine position and mock her to death. He literally wanted to throw up.

  Just then, he picked up the sound of slippers shuffling on the narrow concrete sidewalk, and her voice drew closer. A smile creased at his lips, and he felt alive again.

  He flexed his leg muscles and prepared to launch himself at her.

  “Thom? Thom, I can’t hear you. Crap, did I lose the signal again?” she said in disgust.

  He heard the bag of trash fall to the concrete. Was she going back inside? He couldn’t hold back now, not when he was on the verge of such sheer ecstasy.

  “Fricking phone,” she said.

  Her voice wasn’t quite as loud. Then something metal clamored off the concrete. “Double crap!” she called out.

  Without further delay, he jumped out of his position and whipped his machete across his body hoping to slice her chest in two—a quick initial kill shot before he would take her apart limb by limb. The weighted blade caught nothing but air until it slammed into the wooden siding of the garage.

  His eyes almost bugged out—she’d ducked down at just the wrong time. The wrong time for him, anyway.

  “Fuck!” he growled while trying to pull the machete from the wood.

  Just as the blade became free, she torqued her body and connected a roundhouse punch to his ribcage. He gasped for air as he saw her running away. Acting on reflex, he thrust the machete forward. The blade turned in his hand just as it connected with her right shoulder blade.

  She screamed out, falling forward, as the machete dropped to the grass. Blood oozed from her wound, discoloring her oversized T-shirt.

  Just as she got to all fours, he leaped forward and tackled her back to the turf. She tried to wiggle away, but he clawed at her jeans, punching her legs, then her back, connecting with her kidneys. She wailed, and that was when he knew he’d taken control.

  He flipped over the hot-tempered Latina and let her eyes take in the man who would end her life. Right here. Right now.

  But he didn’t see fear initially; she gritted her teeth and tried to claw out his eyes. A fingernail caught his cheek. That copper-like odor filled his senses—her blood, his blood, it didn’t matter. It only added to his excitement.

  He finally grabbed one of her hands and promptly snapped two fingers. She cried out again, stopped fighting back.

  “Am I being too naughty for you, Eva?” He couldn’t help but laugh, as joy filled his heart.

  “How…how do you know my name?” Her voice quivered.

  “You don’t even know how you’ve shattered a family, do you? That just seals the deal.” He punched her in the face, and a tooth went flying out. “You’re going to meet your maker a lot sooner than you’d planned. Too bad you couldn’t send off a quick Dear Thom letter.” He laughed out loud.

  To his complete surprise, she jabbed her thumb into his eye socket and started tugging downward. He gripped her forearm and tried to pull it away, but it only pulled his eye socket with it. Her nail burrowed deeper into the bloody crevice. Taking in a deep breath, he rammed his elbow into her arm, breaking her grip, but shredding the rim of his socket at the same time.

  “Fucking bitch,” he yelled, punching her twice in the face.

  He put his hands around her throat and began to squeeze. She immediately began to gasp for air, as blood from his eye wound dripped on his arms and down to her blood-soaked T-shirt.

  “Where’s your Uncle Thom now? Get it? Uncle Thom?” He chuckled once, but then heard a blood-curdling shriek that nearly burst his eardrums.

  He jerked his neck up and saw a little girl standing at the back steps.

  “Leave my mom alone. Stranger danger! Stranger danger!” she yelled.

  Eva reached out for her little girl. He started to lose his grip on the woman. He wasn’t sure what to do. He’d never intended on killing a child, but he had to shut her trap before someone came outside with a twelve-gauge aimed at his face.

  “Dammit!” he said, crawling off Eva toward the little girl.

  “Run, Samantha. Run and get help!” Eva yelled out.

  He kicked his leg back, his shoe clipping the side of her head. “Shut up, bitch!”

  Just as he turned to grab the girl, Samantha’s eyes snapped to attention, looking over his shoulder.

  “Daddy?”

  <><><>

  He was a hell of a lot quicker than I thought. I made a headfirst leap toward him just as he turned my way, but he quickly spun out of my tackle. I was only able to grab a handful of his shirt, and it ripped from the shoulder seam as he lunged behind me toward Eva.

  Was he hell-bent on killing my ex-fiancée before he even dealt with me?

  “The knife!” Samantha yelled.

  She jabbed her tiny finger toward the man scrambling over Eva to get to a machete of some kind.

  Just as he gripped the handle, I was midair for the second time. But this time I connected, ramming my shoulder in his back. He face-planted into the grass.

  Over my shoulder, I shouted, “Eva, get Samantha out of here!

  Eva seemed woozy, but started kicking into the grass, pushing her body back to Samantha.

  “Mommy, here, let me help you,” I heard my little girl say just as my eyes turned toward the raving madman.

  Wham!

  The man snapped an elbow against my eye, stunning me for a brief second—enough time for him to uncoil his torso. I spotted the massive blade mere inches before it dissected my face. Throwing my body downward, the blade grazed my upper arm, and I could instantly feel air rushing under my sliced skin.

  Not waiting for another attack, I rolled to my right and jumped to my feet in a fighting position. My arm went to my side for my Sig, but I quickly remembered that I’d left it in the car.

  The man was on his feet, toying with the grip of his machete, as we circled each other like prizefighters. An intensity covered his boyish face, wild eyes glistening through the mist. There was something familiar about him.

  “Oh boy, you’re going to regret trying to stop me,” he said, his mouth seething with hate. “I’m going to chop off your arm and give it to your little girl as a present.”

  The corners of his mouth turned upward. My pulse couldn’t go any faster, my hands balled into rock-like fists.

  I could feel his rage, as he tossed the machete from one hand to the other. My eyes glanced over to the steps, and I saw Eva crawling up to grasp Samantha. I wanted to help her, but for right now, I had to keep this asshole occupied until she could get inside and grab her DPD-issued sidearm.

  “You want to be the big man who flies in to save the day, just like your ex-bitch circumventing the law. Right, Booker?”

  I knew all about Eva helping her cousin, getting the charges against him dropped. He wasn’t responsible for a little girl’s death. But for whatever reason, this asshole didn’t want to believe it. That’s why I’d decided to drive by Eva’s place after racing out of the old church.

  How he knew me, I still wasn’t certain. My eyes searched the area for anything I could use as a weapon. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Samantha’s hula hoop—purple, of course.

  He must have seen my eyes diverted. “You going to put on a show for us?” He edged closer, his shoulder cocked, ready to swing the blade.

  Without giving myself another second to think it through, I lunged left, but my back shoe slipped on the wet turf, and I lost most of my momentum. My elbows hit the surface first, the hula hoop just in front of me. I heard him grunt at the same time Samantha yelled out, “Daddy!”

  In one quick motion, I grabbed for the hoop, rolled to my right, and threw the hoop upward, timing it where the machete dropped in the donut hole. I torqued my body upward just as the blade sent a chunk of turf flying. With his arm now hooked, I jerked him closer and shoved my knee into his ribcage. He released another grunt and dropped to his knees, but still managed to swing his arm backward. I jumped straight up, but his
machete connected with the back of my boot. I lost my balance and fell on my ass.

  He pivoted to face me, bringing the machete above his head with two hands. The image of his face was instantly etched in my memory—blood flowing out of his damaged eye, sweat and moisture mixed in to create a venomous face. He looked like the devil.

  I moved to my knees and lunged for the crazed man. I could hear the air forced out of his lungs as his arms lost all motion downward. Our legs became tangled, and we tumbled into the garage. He started pounding his fists and the butt of the machete’s grip into my back, but I kept churning my legs with no idea where we were headed. At one point I lifted him off the ground, but then one of his fists nailed my kidney, draining my energy momentarily.

  My eyes spotted a metal trash can. An extra burst of energy propelled me even harder, and I began to yell out as he started to slice my back like a piece of salami. I kept plowing my shoes into the ground…until finally we barreled into the can.

  The next three seconds took place in slow motion. Twisting in midair to catch himself, the man lost his control of the machete, which clipped off the can and dropped grip-first to the ground.

  He screamed bloody murder as the serrated blade impaled him directly in the gut. I witnessed this as I fell against the chain-link fence. He grabbed for the blade with both hands, but they were sliced in a split second. Seemingly balanced on the deadly blade, he finally spilled to the ground, the machete six inches deep into his body.

  Turning his head toward me, his eyes locked on mine. He tried to smile, but blood gushed from his mouth. He looked at the machete spearing his body, and his blood-filled eyes finally showed fear. They flickered for a second, and he gurgled out one more anguished phrase. “Long live the Avengers.”

  Then he stopped moving, his eyes unblinking, staring at nothing.

  I glanced over at Eva, who’d just walked down the stairs with her pistol raised. She stopped when she noticed the gory scene, bringing a hand to her mouth.

  I said, “There’s more than one killer.”

  19

  The paramedics were set up in the dining room, the detectives and FBI in the living room. Our small group was plowing through paperwork—the real kind and the digital version—in between getting our own wounds tended to and answering questions. Countless questions, with the FBI leading the interrogation.

  Fortunately, the US Attorney’s Office trumped the FBI, at least on this night, in my ex-fiancée’s home, which was why we were able to continue our investigation. I imagined that courtesy wouldn’t extend much beyond sunrise, when calls to DC would be made, and then a quick progression of calls would end with the chief pulling my badge without any questions.

  “I’m drowning in paper, Alisa. Can you show me the chapter you read to me from the latest revision?” I stood alongside a narrow, red Formica counter, trying to piece together the judge’s memoir that my partner had hastily gathered up and thrown into a box. She’d just arrived at the scene in the last ten minutes.

  “Hold on a second,” she said, pushing out her chair from the 1950s-style dinette. She sidled up next to me, glancing at my heavily bandaged arm. She put her hand on my good shoulder and said, “Dammit, Booker. You’re a walking wound machine.”

  “Only when there’s a machete being used like a helicopter blade.”

  She smirked, then quickly rummaged through the pages to assemble them in the correct order. “This is the latest version. Chapter seven. I think it’s about the third page in where he talks about the rape case I read to you earlier.”

  “I know about that case. I don’t have time to read it again. I’m wondering about the other cases. The ones that also created some anxiety for Judge Fischer.”

  “Trying to see if the other murders somehow ran through his court?”

  “You read my mind.”

  She shot me a wink, then leaned across my body, thumbing through the redlined manuscript. Her hair tickled my nose, and I smelled coconut in the curls. Shutting my eyes for a moment, I took in a deep breath, allowing my senses to embrace something that wasn’t blood.

  The back door banged open. Wearing an old pair of jeans and a UT sweatshirt, Henry gripped his temples with one hand.

  “It’s Kenneth. Kenneth Hamilton, a paralegal from my office.” His breathing was rapid, as if he’d just walked the Great Wall of China.

  “The lunatic with the machete who tried to kill Eva?” Alisa asked.

  The pages dropped to my side, and I said to Henry, “I knew he looked familiar. I must have seen him around your office.”

  Henry lifted his arms as his jaw dropped, but no words came out.

  “I know this can’t be easy, Henry. Two of your colleagues now dead.”

  He forced a breath out of his nose while shutting the door behind him. Leaning on a vinyl chair, he said, “There’s a big difference, though. Kim was thrown off her balcony, while that piece of shit lying in the yard out there tried to kill Eva, could have hurt Samantha.”

  “Guys.” Alisa held up a hand, as she leaned over her laptop, curls nearly covering her face. I wondered how she was able to breathe. “I just reviewed the files Henry had unsealed by the US Attorney earlier tonight.”

  She stood, glancing at Henry then back at me.

  I tried to peek at her screen. “And?”

  “The girl’s name from the rape case was Angela Hamilton. Address is in North Dallas.”

  “I think Kenneth grew up here.” Henry’s voice had an airy tone.

  “It’s got to be him. He must have killed the judge,” Alisa said.

  “But no evidence connects him.” Henry shut the door and walked toward me.

  “Yet,” I added. A couple of images popped in my mind.

  I put a hand on Alisa’s shoulder as she clicked and pecked on the keyboard.

  “I’m already checking the judge’s address against the Hamilton residence.”

  “You read my mind…again. How are we going to break that habit?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “It kind of goes with the territory of working closely together…and dating, doesn’t it?” Her eyes never left the screen. “Here.”

  Henry leaned in from the other side as our eyes viewed a map with a thin, blue line connecting two red dots.

  “How far is that?”

  “Just over a mile,” she said. “See that green blob? That’s the pond. The judge was killed in the park just next to it.”

  I moved my hand to the mouse. “Pardon me.”

  “Backseat driver,” she mumbled.

  I clicked the icon that showed the ground-level view. “Kenneth’s family lives in one of the homes bordering the park. Looks to be five or six homes down from where one of the pieces of brick was used to kill the judge.”

  Henry shook his head. “It’s all about revenge.”

  “Not your typical revenge case, though,” I said. “He didn’t go after the guy who committed the crime. He murdered the judge who overturned the conviction.”

  Alisa looked up at me. “Think about Bernice. The loss she’ll never replace. All because this douche bag thinks he’s a Robin Hood vigilante or something.”

  “Is there any way Kenneth and Kim could have been more than just colleagues? Any reason you can think of where he would hold some type of vendetta against her?” I asked.

  Henry tapped his chin. “Nothing comes to mind. We could conduct interviews across the entire office, but that might take several days.”

  I lifted the manuscript pages and tried to focus on gleaning something useful.

  “I just can’t believe he came after Eva,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone.

  I explained how she’d recently cleared her cousin, Arturo. He owned a slew of ice cream trucks. One little girl died after eating one of the ice cream bars purchased from his truck. He’d initially been charged with manslaughter, but once Eva dug into it, she found that one of the distributors had laced a few of the ice cream bars with a toxic version of meth.

&nbs
p; Henry’s voice shook with anger. “I can’t believe Kenneth. He was supposed to be one of the good guys. Do you think there are others, like he said to you just before he died?”

  My lips pressed against my teeth. “Hard to say. He seemed like a pretty cocky guy, the kind who’d try to throw us off even in his last breath.”

  “That little mother—”

  “Earmuffs.” Eva pushed through the swivel door looking like she’d just survived the fight of her life. She had. Samantha was attached to her side like Velcro.

  “Hey,” I said to Samantha.

  I could see her chin quivering. She extended an arm, then raced over, and plowed into me, popping the wound on my arm at the same time. Alisa tried to adjust Samantha away from my injury, but I shook my head and picked up my little girl.

  “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe, Mommy is safe. Everything will be fine.”

  “You…and Mommy…almost died.” Tears pooled in her eyes, then she buried her face in my neck. I scratched the back of her head.

  “Why don’t you go to the ER?” I asked Eva.

  “I’m fine.” She swallowed hard and touched her neck, a black-and-blue mess. She had her arm in a sling so it wouldn’t move and disturb the wound dressing on her back. I noticed two bruises on her face. Part of me wanted to grab her and hold her too. Not out of some hidden, deep-seated love, but because I wanted to comfort Samantha that her mom would be okay.

  The swivel door opened, and Eva’s boyfriend, Thom, marched in, taking her in his arms. They whispered to each other as they rocked back and forth.

  I could feel Alisa’s eyes on me.

  “Samantha, why don’t you try to go back to your bedroom? You can grab all of your stuffed animals and throw them on your bed. I’ll come give you a kiss goodnight in a few minutes,” Alisa suggested gently.

  “I’m. Not. Leaving. Ever,” she said, squeezing my neck.

  I turned to Alisa, held out my arms, and mouthed, Sorry. Samantha had wrapped her legs around my waist. She wasn’t going anywhere.