From the Back Cover
FROM USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR J. ROBERT KENNEDY
Sometimes Life Gives Murder a Second Chance
It was the case that destroyed Detective Justin Shakespeare’s career, beginning a downward spiral of self-loathing and self-destruction lasting half a decade. And today things are only going to get worse. The Widow Rapist is free on a technicality, and it is up to Detective Shakespeare and his partner Amber Trace to find the evidence, five years cold, to put him back in prison before he strikes again.
But Shakespeare and Trace aren’t alone in their desire for justice. The Seven are the survivors, avowed to not let the memories of their loved ones be forgotten. And with the release of the Widow Rapist, they are determined to take justice into their own hands, restoring balance to a flawed system.
At stake is a second chance, a chance at redemption, a chance to salvage a career destroyed, a reputation tarnished, and a life diminished.
A chance brought to Detective Shakespeare whether he wants it or not.
A chance brought to him by The Redeemer.
From USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy comes the third entry in the acclaimed Detective Shakespeare Mysteries series, The Redeemer, a dark tale exploring the psyches of the serial killer, the victim, and the police, as they all try to achieve the same goals.
Balance. And redemption.
About J. Robert Kennedy
USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has been ranked by Amazon as the #1 Bestselling Action Adventure novelist based upon combined sales. He is the author of over twenty international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series of which the first installment, The Protocol, has been on the bestseller list in the US and UK since its release, including occupying the number one spot for three months.
He lives with his wife and daughter and writes full-time.
"If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J Robert Kennedy."
Amazon Vine Voice Reviewer
Find out more at www.jrobertkennedy.com.
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Books by J. Robert Kennedy
The James Acton Thrillers
The Protocol
Brass Monkey
Broken Dove
The Templar's Relic
Flags of Sin
The Arab Fall
The Circle of Eight
The Venice Code
Pompeii's Ghosts
Amazon Burning
The Riddle
Blood Relics
The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers
Rogue Operator
Containment Failure
Cold Warriors
Death to America
The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers
Payback
Infidels
The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries
Depraved Difference
Tick Tock
The Redeemer
Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series
The Turned
THE REDEEMER
A Detective Shakespeare Mystery
Book #3
by
J. Robert Kennedy
THE REDEEMER
By J. Robert Kennedy
Copyright ©2012 J. Robert Kennedy
Smashwords Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First Edition
1.1
Table of Contents
The Novel
Acknowledgements
Thank You from the Author
Newsletter
About the Author
Also by the Author
For my beloved Grandma, Kathleen “Kay” Kennedy. You will be missed.
ONE
Stephen’s cheek twitched.
Only feet away. Inches. He could reach out right now and throttle the bastard. Or even better, get the penknife in his pocket, and plunge it into the beast’s neck; finish it all in one swift stroke.
But then he’d be the one going to prison.
And there was only one person in this elevator who deserved that.
He shuffled to one side, bumping into a guard escorting the prisoner, the object of his hate, to the courtroom. Why he had been brought up on the same elevator as him, only God knew, the twist of fate that had afforded this opportunity understandable to only the great unknown, but there he stood, just having met with the Assistant District Attorney, who had given him the unbelievable, unspeakable news that the world was about to learn.
His sister’s killer was going free.
Wayne Cooper. The man who had raped his sister for hours, stabbed her thirty-seven times, then raped her dead body for hours more. He sucked in a lungful of air quickly, noisily, at the memory.
So painful.
Cooper turned toward the sound, and when their eyes met, he smiled.
“Hello, Steve. Did you hear the good news?”
Stephen’s heart slammed against his ribcage. He could hear the blood rushing through his veins as the roar of rage filled his ears. He reached in his pocket and gripped the penknife.
Just one swift stroke, and it would all be over.
But instead he nodded.
Cooper smiled. “Good. I’m glad my friends are here.” He looked up at the display as it counted down the floors. “We should go celebrate after I’m released.”
Stephen saw red. Spots appeared in front of his eyes, and he realized he had been holding his breath. He felt slightly lightheaded, the pounding continuing.
He gasped in a lungful of air, clarity returning.
And he pulled the penknife from his pocket. Slowly. Reaching over with his free hand, he extended the blade. It was short, not even three inches, but properly placed, it would do some damage, and if he had enough time, enough luck, it would kill the animal in front of him. He turned his shoulder inward, to position himself so the guard to Cooper’s left couldn’t see his hands.
He stepped forward, the knife rising from his side, his eyes focused on the back of the man’s neck, just at the base of the skull. One direct hit, and it’ll all be over.
The elevator chimed and the door opened, spilling its passengers into the hall. Stephen stood frozen, knife at chest level, his opportunity lost.
And he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
“Coming, Stephen?”
The taunting voice snapped him back to reality, and he stepped out just as the doors were about to close. He dropped the knife into a nearby trash bin, and walked in the opposite direction, toward the public entrance of the courtroom.
“See you soon, Stephen!” he heard the bastard’s voice call from around the corner. It echoed through the corridor, as if a haunted memory. He looked up and froze.
There was the man whose fault this all was. The man who had lost the evidence that would have assured this bastard’s conviction.
There was Detective Justi
n Shakespeare, NYPD.
Detective Shakespeare looked up from the bench he sat on when Vincent “Vinny” Fantino, head of the crime lab, tapped him on the shoulder.
“Look,” he whispered.
Shakespeare leaned forward to see where Vinny was looking and frowned. It was Stephen Russell, brother to the first victim of Wayne Cooper, a notorious serial rapist and murderer they had taken off the streets five years ago.
And today, thanks to you, he goes free.
“I should talk to him.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? If I were him, I’d be hating us right about now.”
“Us?”
Vinny looked at Shakespeare. “Yeah, ‘us’. You may have lost the gun”—Shakespeare’s chest tightened at the memory—“but it’s my evidence they’re tossing today.” Vinny shook his head, his cheeks flushing. “Fucking justice system. They know damned well the evidence is good, but just because I make a paperwork error, they toss it. Goddamned lawyers. Punish me, but keep the evidence in.”
Shakespeare grunted as he pushed on his knees to get himself up, his bones feeling far older than they should, tired of carrying his bulk around. I gotta lose weight.
“You okay?”
Shakespeare shrugged. “Just looking forward to that sweet sweet relief a massive heart attack will bring.”
Vinny frowned, looking at Shakespeare, as if trying to figure out whether or not he was joking.
He wasn’t.
But he was.
Ever since his doctor had indicated he might have a problem and scheduled him for testing, every twinge, every discomfort, had him thinking ‘this is it!’. The sad thing was these were the same twinges and pains he had always felt, probably his entire life, and most likely the fitness freaks like Vinny even had them and didn’t think twice. But when your doctor says the left side of your heart may be larger than it should be due to high blood pressure caused by weight and stress, every little thing in the chest area becomes a pending heart attack.
It sucked.
Now he was afraid to even get on the treadmill. His doctor had said not to worry about it—yeah right!—and continue on as before. Try to lose some weight though, and reduce your stress. Shakespeare shook his head at the memory. Doc, diets cause me stress. His doctor had smiled, that all knowing smile doctors seem to have when they don’t want to give you an answer, because they don’t have one.
He looked at Stephen Russell and stepped toward him, but Russell glared at him, then turned on his heel, marching out of sight.
“I guess that solves that,” said Vinny.
Shakespeare grunted, debating whether or not to sit down again.
The courtroom doors opened, ending the debate.
“Let’s go watch our careers tank.”
Shakespeare nodded, following Vinny into the courtroom. The decision by the judge hadn’t been made public yet, but everyone ‘in the know’ knew what was about to happen. The evidence, the key piece, a strip of tape with DNA on it, found at the scene of the last victim, had been mislabeled. The wrong apartment number. 401A instead of 410A. And these were the exact type of screw-ups defense attorneys spent days and dollars on finding.
And they had found it.
In a Hail Mary effort they had claimed the DNA evidence against their client had been faked, and requested it be provided for their own testing, using the most recent techniques. The court had agreed, and when the evidence was delivered, they had found the error. And that was all it took. They immediately went to the press, then the court, claiming there was no way to know for certain if the evidence was actually from the crime scene, since it had been five years, and all along it had the wrong address.
It was bullshit, everyone knew it, but since it was the only piece of evidence, what with the gun stolen from Shakespeare’s car, the entire case would fall apart without it.
And the killer of seven women would be set free.
Free to do it all over again.
Shakespeare sat on the bench behind the prosecution’s table, the Assistant District Attorney who had been handling the case since the beginning already there. Vinny slid in beside Shakespeare, followed by Lieutenant Gene Phillips and the DA himself. ADA Susan Turnbull looked over her shoulder and glared at Vinny, then Shakespeare.
Both looked at their shoes.
Lt. Phillips leaned forward slightly, looking at Vinny and Shakespeare. “How are you two holding up?”
Both shrugged.
“Uh huh. Well, as soon as we’re out of here, we’ll reopen the case.”
Shakespeare leaned forward.
“Who’s lead?”
Lt. Phillips looked at him, a slight frown on his face, and Shakespeare knew he was about to lose the case. He didn’t blame him. It had been his fuckup that nearly cost them it in the first place. He was a diabetic. Only none of his co-workers knew it. He had been stuck at the crime scene all day, and when he left with the gun to bring it in for testing, he had felt his blood sugar drop. He knew from past experience if he went hypoglycemic he could slip into a coma and die, so he pulled over to get something to eat. In his confusion caused by the low blood sugar, he had left his car unlocked, and the gun sitting on the passenger seat.
And it had been stolen.
He and Vinny had a rip-roaring fight over it, in public, but Shakespeare had been too ashamed to admit what had really happened. That he had been sick, that he was a diabetic, and that it was because of his weight. The two had barely spoken for five years except to exchange insults, and had only recently patched things up.
And his career had taken a nosedive.
He had basically said ‘fuck it’, and began to coast through life, letting his new partner, Detective Hayden Eldridge, handle things. It wasn’t until Eldridge’s last case that Shakespeare began to reclaim his life, some hope restored by finding a woman who actually loved him, rolls, folds and all.
And he thought he had done quite well since.
He needed this.
He needed this to fully reclaim his life.
“LT, I need this.”
Phillips’ frown creased his face deeper.
Shakespeare leaned in. “You know me. I’m back. I’m my old self again. I need to make this right. It was my fuckup that got us where we are today.”
“And mine,” interjected Vinny.
“Let me make this right.”
Phillips looked at Vinny, then the DA who said nothing. Turnbull had spun around in her chair, delivering her opinion through narrowed, angry eyes. Phillips looked at Shakespeare.
“Fine, it’s yours.”
Shakespeare smiled, exchanging a fist bump with Vinny. He held his fist up to the lieutenant and raised his eyebrows. “Come on, LT, you know you want to.”
Phillips shook his head, a smile breaking out, giving him the love. Turnbull let out a burst of disgust through her lips and turned to face the front of the court.
“All rise!” ordered the clerk as the judge entered. Shakespeare pushed himself up with a grunt, and by the time he was standing dropped back onto the bench with the announcement of, “You may be seated.”
He felt a pounding in his chest that wasn’t normal, then the tightness set in. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, then exhaled slowly. He repeated this a few times.
“You okay?”
He nodded to Vinny’s question without opening his eyes. “Just”—deep breath and exhale—“relaxing.”
“Well, you might want to keep those eyes closed.”
Shakespeare’s latest exhale stopped and he opened his eyes. “Huh?”
Vinny jerked his head slightly to indicate the rows behind them. “Looks like our fan club is present.”
Shakespeare looked over his shoulder and saw the bench behind them occupied by “The Seven” as he had taken to calling them. One representative for each of the victims. One stalwart who had never missed a day in court, whether it was arraignment, trial, motions. It didn’t matter. The Seven were always there.
And they didn’t like him.
That he knew. He had lost the gun, he had nearly lost the case, and now, he was about to actually lose it. At least now he had Vinny to keep him company in The Seven’s doghouse. He gave Rebecca Sorenson, the sister of the third victim, a nod and turned back to face the front of the court before she could sneer at him, but instead found himself staring at the defendant’s “side” of the court.
It was packed.
It appeared Wayne Cooper had quite the following. And he did. His mother had sworn he was innocent since the beginning, claiming he had been at home with her every night one of the murders was committed. Her statement was dismissed as that of a mother who would lie to protect her son. The prosecution had blown the alibi to pieces with footage of the house, a humble, unkempt home, where Cooper lived in the basement, his mother upstairs.
A basement which had its own entrance.
The prosecution had successfully convinced the jury that Cooper could have left the house at any time without his mother knowing, and besides, what mother wouldn’t lie to protect her son.
But what Shakespeare had found troubling, in fact most people attached with the case had found troubling, was the enjoyment Cooper seemed to get from the limelight. His mother had set up a Facebook page for him, Twitter accounts, a website—essentially every type of social media she could think of, to garner support. They had fundraised over the Internet, successfully paying for most of his legal fees, but what was truly sickening to those who knew how guilty he was, was the fact that he had tens of thousands of fans on his Facebook page, almost forty thousand followers on Twitter.
Redeemer (A Detective Shakespeare Mystery, Book #3) Page 1
