Deadly Games

by Alexis Kennedy

  ALEXIS KENNEDY

  First Edition

  Copyright © 2018 Alexis Kennedy

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database, or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-946212-39-9

  Title Wave Publishing LLC

  Union, MO

  http://bit.do/AlexisKennedy

  Cover design by Xcite! DesignZ

  edited by BB Editing

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  BOOKS BY ALEXIS KENNEDY

  Bound Through Blood

  Under the Blood Moon (Hearts on Fire Book 1)

  Ravaged (Dial M for Murder Book 1)

  Déjà Vu (Dial M for Murder Book 2)

  Cupid (Dial M for Murder Book 3)

  Two Faced

  Scandalous

  Angry House

  Birthright

  Indelible (Two Faced book 2)

  Gods and Angels

  Lycan Moon (Hearts on Fire Book 2)

  Deadly Games (Elusive Killers Book 1)

  Every story has a voice, so let it speak to you.

  ~Alexis Kennedy

  June 20, 2016

  St. Louis, MO

  I WOKE UP early Monday morning for my first day in St. Louis County Police Department’s Homicide Unit. After working for seven years in Vice and the Drug Unit, I finally got to move up when Detective Robert Haas retired.

  My face hurt from smiling as I walked down the crowded corridors, trying to make a good first impression. I knocked on Lieutenant Daniel Madden’s door and stepped inside when he waved to me through the glass pane.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant Madden,” I greeted him.

  “Good morning, Sasha. Let’s go introduce you to the rest of the unit.”

  He led the way into the bullpen where desks were jammed up against each other in the cramped space. I saw one empty desk and assumed it was now mine.

  “All, I want you to meet Detective Sasha Delossa. I snagged her from the Drug Unit to fill our vacancy. I’m sure you will catch her up on open cases and make her feel welcome.”

  A tall bald man stepped forward and thrust his hand toward me. “I’m Sergeant Detective Liam Davis. Welcome to the team.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” I replied, but he scowled.

  “No need for formality in this unit. You can just call me Liam.”

  I nodded and shook hands with the others as they introduced themselves. I met Eric Riley and the only other female in the unit—Marisol Kendall. My desk was butted against Marisol’s, and when I sat down in the office chair, I smelled the heavy stench of cologne.

  Marisol obviously recognized the look of distaste because she told me, “I know. He liked to splash it on in the morning.”

  I pulled out a container of Lysol wipes from my box of belongings and wiped the desk and chair down. It helped some. Once I got my drawers unstuck from the duct tape they’d jokingly put on them, I was ready to dive in.

  “What do I need to look at first?” I asked Liam, and he handed me a short stack of file folders.

  “These can use a fresh pair of eyes, so give them a scan first. We’ll go from there.”

  I nodded in understanding and cracked open the first folder. It was a case on a drive-by shooting of a seventeen-year-old female on Biddle Street in Carr Square. According to her grandmother, she’d been on her way to the Lorretta Hall Park to meet friends in the early afternoon of May 7th. Her friends called the house when she never showed up, claiming they’d heard gunshots. The young woman, Latoya Lamarre, was an honor student with a promising future, but she had the misfortune of living in a bad neighborhood ran by the Crips.

  That got me to thinking about my confidential informant from my days in the Drug Unit. My CI, Maria Gomez, was known to associate with the various Crips and Bloods, but the rival gangs didn’t know about it, or she’d already be dead. I put in a call to her.

  After telling her I was now a part of the Homicide Unit, I asked about the shooting. “Have you heard anything about it from your friends?”

  “Nah, I ain’t heard nothing about it. I’ll keep my ears open for you though, chica. Say…um…does being your CI for homicides and shit pay more? I mean, that’s harder work on my end with all these boys up in here and their turf wars.”

  I smiled to myself. She sure tried hard to wheedle every dime I had. “I’m sure we can work something out, Maria. You call me if you find anything out. It was May 7th near Lorretta Hall Park,” I reiterated.

  “I’ll get back to ya if I hear something,” she replied and then screamed at someone talking loudly near her. “I’m on the damn phone!”

  “It’s okay, Maria. I’ve got to go, but you call me if anything comes up.” I hung up and stuck my finger inside my ringing ear.

  “CI, huh?” Marisol asked. “I could hear her from over here.”

  I laughed. “Yep, she’s a loud one. She runs around with the Crips and Bloods, kind of alternating between them. She’s helped me on drug busts, so she’s valuable to SLCPD.”

  Marisol shrugged. “We take whatever help we can get in this department. The more eyes and ears we have out there, the better.”

  I nodded and thumbed through the file again, reading the interviews conducted in the case. I didn’t get very far, though, when Liam addressed us all.

  “There’s been a body found in Forest Park, outside by the Boathouse’s dumpster. The woman is too mangled for a positive ID, so we’ll have to wait for dental records, but Tamara Boyd was reported missing last night by her fiancée. He claims she was headed to the zoo yesterday to meet her sister, Dominique Boyd, but she never arrived. Search dogs found the body.”

  Marisol raised her brows at me. “Welcome to Homicide. There’s no time like the present to break you in.” She rose from her desk and strapped on her Glock. “You can ride with me.”

  I followed them to the elevators, feeling woozy from the sudden excitement. It was like going on a drug bust, but it was worse since someone had died. More than ever, it made me want to uphold my badge.

  WHEN WE ARRIVED on the scene, there were two patrol cars still there, but the SLCPD Canine Unit was pulling out. I love dogs, and I had been fortunate to work with some of the canines while in the Drug Unit.

  “Are you ready for this?” Marisol asked, and my pulse raced even faster.

  “I believe so. I’ve always wanted to join the Homicide Unit, so I’m excited. Isn’t that morbid?” I wondered.

  She laughed, “I guess it is a little, but then it applies to us all. Someone has to die for us to get paid.”

  She parked next to the other cruisers, and we jumped out to join our team. When we approached the body, I could smell the metallic scent of a horrid death from several feet away, and it burned my nose. I’d smelled decomposing bodies before, but this was different than a drug overdose. This was the scent of someone’s suffering and pain.

  Eric noticed me cringing and said, “You’ll get used to it before you know it.”

&
nbsp; I grimaced at him. “That’s what I’m afraid of. How do you get used to murder?”

  He sighed, “Sadly, by the constant exposure.”

  The crime scene was a drastic contrast to the serenity of Post Dispatch Lake. Thankfully, the restaurant wasn’t open yet, and the lake area was void of fishermen. There were plenty of lookie-loos driving down Government Drive, though. The sound of screeching tires bounced off the building as the drivers slammed on the brakes to rubberneck. The less-interested drivers furiously honked their horns and tried to pull around.

  “All we need is a car wreck out here on top of this mess,” I mumbled under my breath.

  The distorted body was splayed on the ground in front of the dumpster. She had on slashed remains of a tank top and shorts, which were soaked with blood. The M.E., Chris Edwards, was hunched over her.

  He glanced up with a look of disgust and announced, “Based on her liver temperature, she’s been dead for about four hours. She has multiple stab wounds and lacerations all over her body”—he turned her head toward us—“including her face.”

  “And she wasn’t carrying ID, right?” Marisol asked him.

  Sam Conner, who was one of the officers still on the scene, spoke up. “No, we didn’t find a purse or ID on her or in the dumpster.”

  “This looks personal,” I observed, and they all looked in my direction. “It’s overkill, to say the least, and why slash her face?”

  “Keep going,” Liam encouraged, “What else do you see?”

  I looked at the ground, not enjoying being put on the spot, but I was grateful I had the chance to prove my worth to the team.

  “Well, there isn’t enough blood here, so she’s been moved from the primary crime scene. Also, the killer is likely male because it would take strength to move a woman of her size, and statistically speaking, women don’t normally mutilate other women. It’s usually a misogynistic male”—I looked back up at Liam—“How did I do?”

  They all smiled, and he praised my efforts. “I think you made a sound and thorough assessment, especially for a first attempt.”

  I felt a blush creep up my neck and into my cheeks. “Thank you. I’ve done a considerable amount of reading, including FBI manuals.”

  Eric barked with laughter. “It’s your first day in the Homicide Unit, and you’re already thinking about leaving us for the FBI?”

  I shook my head with a giggle. “No, I just like to know what I’m dealing with is all.”

  Marisol clasped my shoulder with a light squeeze. “That’s a good attitude, and it will help you thrive in this unit.”

  Dr. Edwards stood and told us, “I’m going to take her back to the morgue and begin the autopsy. I’ll let you know when my report is finished and when I have her identity confirmed.” He waved for his techs to remove her remains.

  Liam cleared his throat. “As Sasha pointed out, we need to find the primary crime scene, and of course, we need to start interviews. Let’s get the sister and fiancé in as soon as possible.”

  When we returned to SLCPD, I sat in on the interview with Tamara Boyd’s fiancé, John Washington. The distraught man had apparently been waiting at the station all morning.

  “Did you find her?” he asked as soon as Marisol and I entered the interview room.

  “We’re not sure, Mr. Washington,” Marisol began. “Can you tell us what she was wearing the last time you saw her?”

  Through his tears, he sobbed, “She had on a red blouse and a black skirt.”

  I shared a knowing glance with Marisol. It didn’t match our victim’s clothes. “Are you sure that’s what she had on when she left your house?” I asked, and he nodded.

  “Why? What do you know?” he questioned us with narrowed eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  I quickly answered him, “We aren’t keeping anything from you because we don’t know anything for sure yet. I don’t want to upset you further until we know something definitive.”

  His hands were shaking, and tears streamed down his face. He sobbed, “I heard some officers talking, and they said there was a-a-a body. Oh god! Is it her?”

  Marisol answered him this time. “We don’t know yet. We’re waiting on dental records. Does she have any tattoos or birthmarks on her body that might help us?”

  He nodded rapidly. “She has our son’s name inked on her right wrist. It’s Jayden.”

  “Thank you for the information. Now, if you’d like to remain here, you can certainly do so, but if you want to go home and rest, we’ll contact you as soon as we know something,” Marisol informed him.

  He stood up so abruptly that his metal folding chair toppled over and clanged to the floor. Instinctively, my hand flew to my Glock, but I didn’t withdraw it.

  Marisol tried talking to him again in a more soothing tone as he anxiously paced the room. “We’re going to go check on some things, but you can stay here and wait.”

  He slumped back into a chair and put his face in his hands to cry. He wasn’t going anywhere, so I closed the door behind us to give him some privacy.

  “When is the sister coming in?” I wondered.

  Marisol pressed the down button for the elevator and tossed a sideways glance at me. “Not until we know whom we have in the morgue. It doesn’t appear to be her, though.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” I mumbled as we stepped onto the elevator.

  HE WALKED IN circles around the fetching woman, who was bound to the wooden beam. He made a tsking sound repetitiously and stared into her terrified eyes without blinking once. He studied her expression—or what he could see of it since duct tape was across her mouth, and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he envisioned all he would do to her.

  When her eyes went blank, as if she was trying to disassociate herself from her circumstances, he squeezed her shoulder hard enough to leave a deep bruise.

  “Look at me!” he demanded sharply. “I need to see what you’re feeling.” Tears puddled in her widened brown eyes, and he responded with laughter. “See now? That’s much better. That’s helpful.” But he wanted more.

  He peeled back the tape from her mouth to see her full red lips. She bit into her lower lip while sobs escaped her.

  “Why are you doing this?” she begged.

  He picked up a camera and directed her, “That’s it. Show me how you feel. This is the stage, and you are the star. I want to see what you’re thinking.” Click. Click. “Perfect. Now let’s see what this does for your mood.” He held up a large butcher knife, and shrill screams filled the dank concrete room.

  “Help me! Someone, please help me!” she cried at the top of her lungs while he continued to snap photos.

  “Let it out,” he laughed maniacally. “No one can hear you.” He set the camera on a tripod set up in front of her and grabbed the remote switch. “It’s time for a close-up,” he growled and stepped closer to her.

  “Please don’t hurt me. Just let me go, and I’ll forget all about this,” she pleaded. Her entire face was distorted with terror, and he just kept taking pictures. He also kept stepping closer with the knife.

  “Do you know what the director says when the scene is finished?” he taunted with an evil smirk. “He says cut.”

  He drew the tip of the knife down the length of her left forearm, bound above her head to the beam, and blood streamed down her body to puddle on the floor.

  Her screams sounded melodious to him. Why have I waited so long to try this?

  THE MORGUE WAS cold and smelled of disinfectant and death. Chris looked up from the mutilated body with a grim expression, but no one would expect anything less
.

  “I don’t have the DNA or dental comparisons back just yet, but I did put a rush on them,” he informed us.

  “Can you see if she has the name Jayden tattooed on her right wrist?” Marisol asked him.

  He gestured to her arm and explained, “She doesn’t have any tattoos or identifying birthmarks on her at all. I already checked.”

  “What about sexual assault?” I asked, and he shook his head.

  “No, there was no evidence of trauma, and I did a swab to check for necrophilia, but it came up empty,” he replied, and the idea made me cringe. “I didn’t find prints or foreign hairs on her for trace either. He was very careful.”

  I got to thinking about something I’d read in an FBI forensics manual. “Killers who use knives usually cut themselves in the process, so did you swab for foreign blood cells?”

  He smiled. “I’m glad you know that, and yes, I collected swabs. The crime lab is processing them.”

  Marisol had been staring at the body, but she finally looked up at me. “Well, let’s go tell Mr. Washington the good news. Since this isn’t Tamara Boyd, she could still be alive.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Okay. I’m wondering if maybe she got cold feet about the wedding and just took off on her own.”

  She frowned and nodded. “I hope that’s the case. I truly do.”

  John Washington’s twisted face relaxed, and a gush of air escaped his mouth. “I’m so glad that it isn’t her, but where can she be?”

  I gently asked him, “Mr. Washington, is there a chance she just needed a few days to herself, so she went somewhere? Is it possible that she has cold feet about your wedding?”

  He slammed his fist on the table, causing our folders to displace. “No! She waited three years for me to propose, and when I did, she started making all the plans. We’re supposed to get married in three months, and she’s been nothing but excited about it. She has her dress, the catering, the flowers, and the cake all taken care of already”—he put his head in his hands and sobbed—“Jayden is going to be the ring bearer, and she loves him more than anything in this world, so I know she didn’t just take off.”