The Crawford Chronicles - Book 1

by Clayton Conrad

  “We heard different.”

  “The last time I saw a Robert we had…” he caught himself in time. “No, it’s been over a year ago.”

  Phelps sat there for a moment. “He hasn’t contacted you or called you? You haven’t seen him at all.”

  “Not for over a year.”

  “Well, then, I guess we can’t do business Jeff my boy,” Phelps said and got up to go.

  “Wait,” Jeffrey said and started to get up until he felt the sergeant’s hand clamp down hard on his shoulder.

  “We need to talk to Orlando and if you can’t help us, there is nothing more to talk about,” Phelps said as he paused at the door.

  “Orlando is small change. He is nothing,” Jeffrey said in an almost desperate voice. “He’s a chump, but I got something really big. If we can deal.”

  Phelps turned around and sent back down. “What can you have that is so big that you think you can deal yourself out of this mess?”

  “What would you say if I told you I could lead you to a stone hearted, slap-ass, cold-blooded killer?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I know this guy. He’s a lawyer. He got me out of a jam once or twice.”

  “And?”

  “He kidnapped this other guy know, he killed him deader than shit. Took his time doing it, too.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I was there, but I didn’t take part in any of it. I’m not one for torturing anyone and all that shit. I hung around for a while, but the guy’s screams kinda turned me off. So I lit out. He’s got a place in the High Sierras.”

  “Where in the High Sierras?”

  “I can’t tell you how to get there, but I can take you.”

  “What is this guy’s name?”

  “Oh no, not so fast. What is in it for me?”

  “What is the dead guy’s name?”

  “Nothing more for me until I see something in writing.”

  Phelps got up from his chair. “You little turd. If you’re shitting me, if you’re pulling my weenie, I’m going to kick your lard ass three ways from Sunday.”

  “What would I have to gain by lying about something like this?”

  Phelps left the room, but the stone faced sergeant remained planted behind Jeffrey. After about 15 minutes, Phelps came back with another detective.

  “Jeffrey. This is Marvin Michaels, he’s my partner in all of this. I hope you don’t mind if he sits in.”

  “Hell no, why should I care. The more the merrier is what I always say. Yay! I love a party.”

  “Okay Jeffrey, let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

  “Oh, no, nothing more from me until we deal and it better be sweet.”

  “I suppose we could trim down a couple of these charges, even make one or two disappear. Only if what you say can be verified. Regardless, you’re still looking at hard time, just not life.”

  “What kind of time are you talking about?”

  “Ten, maybe 15 years with good behavior. You should be out in eight or nine years.”

  “That’s no deal, that’s a bunch of shit!”

  “That’s better than life, you dummy,” the second detective broke in. “Phelps, let’s get out of here, this ass hole is just farting in the wind.”

  “We don’t need him anyway. The dumb shit has told us just enough for us to find this guy without his help. He said this guy defended him twice and got him off both times. I’ll bet you money he’s a public defender, or at least was, and that’s easy to check. All we have to do is go over some court records and bingo, we got him.”

  “No, wait!” Jeffrey shouted and tried to jump up, but the sergeant sat him back down in a hurry.

  “I’m done fooling with you Jeffrey. I’ve been real easy going with you long enough. If I walk out that door, then it’s the slammer for you, the rest of your life.” Phelps said as he grabbed his notebook and papers off the table and headed for the door.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll go for it, write it up and I’ll sign it. Check 10 or 12 years, I can do standing on my head. It will be a walk in the park.”

  Early the next morning they loaded up in two four-wheel drive Suburbans. Four patrolmen, the same two detectives, and Jeffrey Hunter, who was handcuffed to one of the patrolmen. Five and a half hours later with a detour and a few wrong turns, they reached the old shack.

  Phelps got out of the lead vehicle and stretched his back and shoulders while the rest of the party spread out to have a look around.

  “Be careful where you step and don’t touch anything,” Phelps shouted so that all could hear. “This could be a crime scene.”

  “I need to take a leak.” Jeffrey complained. “How about un-cuffing me? I could use a smoke, too.”

  Phelps nodded to the patrolman and Jeffrey was un-cuffed.

  “If you try anything, you little shit, you won’t get 10 feet.”

  “What you think I’m going to attack all six of you? You silly man. Now, how about that smoke?”

  One of the patrolmen came out of the shack. “You should see this place. I mean he has a generator out back and everything. A propane cook stove, a small fridge and all the comforts of home. But the damnedest thing, he’s made himself a kind of a rack. You know, like they tortured people with in medieval times. It’s on the back porch. You should see it.”

  Jeffrey said, “I told you the guy was weird. He’s a real nutcase… gave me the creeps. You might want to check the backyard. One time I asked him what was he going to do with the guy and he says he’s going to put him in the back with the others. I believe he called it his happy field.”

  “Phelps,” Detective Michaels called out. “I’ve got a great site outback here. At least it looks like one and freshly done to. Maybe two or three days ago. Better get the shovels out of the rise. It looks like we’re going to need them.”

  Digging and scraping away loose dirt very carefully, it took them 30 minutes before they uncovered a small part of a white cloth. Another 10 minutes before they uncovered the whole body wrapped in a white sheet.

  “Can’t tell what it is yet, male or female, because it’s wrapped in this white sheet,” Phelps reported as he talked to his car radio. “Anyway,” he continued, “better send the crime scene boys and the coroner up here pronto. Oh, and we’ll need a cadaver dog to help us locate any more graves. We know there should be at least one more. And yes, you better get a warrant for this Michael Lansing on suspicion of murder. We can upgrade it later if we need to. We better find out whose property this is. It would be nice if his name is on the deed. Yeah, pick him up. Let’s see what he has to say.”

  Three hours later the whole crew was up there. The crime scene techs, the coroner and two K-9 units. The body was that of a little girl, 12 or 13 years old. Preliminary reports suggested strangulation for there was deep and heavy bruising around her tiny neck. She had been dressed in brand-new clothing, right down to her underwear. Her face had been made up to look like an adult, with mascara, eye shadow and lipstick. The coroner said she had been in the ground no more than two days.

  The different graves were being discovered one after the other. No sooner than one was discovered when another would be found, all most side by side. In the end twenty three graves would be found. Almost all were children, ranging from ten to fifteen years old.

  Only one adult body was found, that of Timothy Holt. His body had several broken bones. His feet looked like they had been put in a vice and crushed. His was the only body found not fully dressed in new clothes or wrapped in a white sheet. He was naked and thrown in a shallow hole with a few shovels of dirt over him. The animals had found his body and had made their dinner of him.

  Lester Holt sat in his office going over the latest poll figures that showed the Senator with a comfortable lead, when his phone rang.

  “Mr. Howard. This is Paul Graves at the Hall of vital records.”

  “Yes, Paul it’s good to hear from you. How is that lovely wife of yours?”


  “She is just fine. Everything is well between us. Thanks to you. But, listen Lester, that’s not why I called. It seems there is a man snooping around asking a lot of questions about you and the Senator. He flashed a reporter’s pass ID and checked out some books pertaining to you and the Senator. Books going all the way back to your college years and even before that. I don’t know why, but it just didn’t ring true, somehow. So I did a little checking of my own. I remembered this guy from a year or so ago. He was in all the papers at the time. He was a cop that got booted out of the department for using excessive force. Name is Ralph Short, he’s now a private detective working for a Clayton Crawford. Acquiring this information was very expensive. I figured, what the hell, I owed you big time. Anyway, you saved my ass and my marriage from that time in New York, so I’m glad I can repay the debt.”

  Lester sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh. Deep frown marks creased his face as he seemed to digest the news he had just received.

  The man just won’t listen to reason. You try to be a nice guy and just see what happens to you. He hated to do it but thought he had no choice. He reached in his desk drawer and got the private phone, one that could not be traced.

  “Where are you?”

  “West Virginia.”

  “Go to a safe phone and call me back.”

  Ten minutes later Lester’s phone rang.

  “What’s up?”

  “The problem we discussed several weeks ago, didn’t go away as expected. The problem is still a very real threat to everyone concerned. You should have…”

  “Lester, in the first place,” Stanley interrupted. “If you would have let Holly and I deal with this threat the way we wanted to, it would have been all over long time ago. And in the second place, Howie and I are staying out of Maryland for a while.”

  “I know the reason you’re in West Virginia. You don’t think I read the newspapers? If that wasn’t the dumbest move I ever heard of, I will eat my hat. For you to harbor a wanted killer and bank robber in your own place no less, what in the world were you and that brainless nitwit thinking?”

  “I owed him big time from a long time ago. If I were you I’d watch that tone of voice, if you understand my meaning.”

  “Okay. The bottom line is this, Larry Parks is dead and you’re on the lam. But that’s not my problem. My problem is Clayton Crawford and I want him, no, I need him to disappear. If he keeps digging around, he’s bound to find something. We need him gone permanently! He’s like a bulldog with a bone. He just won’t let it go. Now, can I count on you, or not? How can I make myself any clearer. I want him dead. You did it with Driscoll, do the same with Crawford. Make him disappear. It won’t be easy this time, he will be ready for you. Maybe use a rifle or pistol of some kind.”

  “Nah, Howie likes it up close, and personal. After this one, we better take off for a while.”

  “Good idea, maybe for a year or two. I hear the South Pacific is wonderful this time of year. I’ll take care of everything, passports, money and anything you need just take care of this asshole Crawford.”

  In another part of the country, 3000 miles away, two squad cars pulled up in front of a very expensive residence in a very expensive neighborhood in a very exclusive part of town. Everyone seemed well briefed; not a word was spoken as to officers ran around to the rear of the house to cover the backyard. Two more followed a pair of plainclothes detectives to the front door. They rang the doorbell and could hear the chimes go off inside. A moment later, a girl of 17 or 18 years old answered the door.

  “Oh, Cops. What’s up? He didn’t get another speeding ticket did he?”

  “No ma’am but we need to speak to Michael Lansing. May we step inside, out of this July heat?”

  “Yeah, why not. Hey dad, some cops are here to see you.”

  As they stepped inside the cool entryway, they saw Michael coming halfway down the steps, then he stopped abruptly.

  “Shit!” he said quickly turned and ran back up the steps disappearing down the hallway.

  “He’s running,” the detective shouted. “Everyone, heads up. He’s running.” One uniformed cop stayed at the front door, while two detectives and the third patrolman sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  The young girl shouted and tried to stop them, when she realized this was a lot more serious than she thought. The officer stationed by the front door had to forcibly restrain her in a powerful bear hug, as she screamed and bit and kicked to get free.

  The three officers heard a door slam at the far end of the hall as they neared the head of the stairs. They ran down the hall full tilt, stopping on either side of the door. They listened for a moment, but heard nothing.

  “Lansing, we’re police officers, give it up. Make it easy on the family. There’s nowhere to run.” The detective shouted. Then, with a nod to the patrolman, the door was kicked wide open, as a shot rang out. The bullet hit the patrolman in the shoulders and spun him around. He stumbled back out the door and went to his knees as the detectives returned fire. He crawled out of the line of fire.

  Michael was outside now on a terrace overlooking the pool and he easily bolted over the railing. He landed hard some twenty feet below on a concrete walk and broke his ankle. One of the patrolmen, a rookie with only six months on the force, ordered Michael to halt. As Michael staggered to his feet, the patrolman, in his excitement, fired twice, striking Michael in the chest and left collar bone. Staggered by the impact of the 9 mm bullets, Michael raised his one good arm to fire his gun. The officer put two more bullets in him. Michael swayed a little sideways and fell head long into the pool.

  The other officer who was watching another section of the yard came running around the corner, just in time to see Michael toppling to the pool. Racing to the edge of the pool, he dived in and swam to the dying man. Keeping Michael’s head above the water, he pushed him to the side of the pool. The other officer, the rookie, was in shock at what had just happened and froze for a moment, but then snapped out of it. Grabbing Michael by his shoulders, he hauled him out of the water put him on his back and tried mouth-to-mouth, but it was no use. Michael was gone. Suicide by cop.

  Then someone broke down in the two-story mansion. The wife was crying hysterically while the two sons tried in vain to console their mother. They were crying too. The daughter was still screaming and cursing the police who were still restraining her.

  They had no idea, they were clueless to the fact that the man the police shot was a vicious sadistic serial killer of the worst sort. He was a complete mad, sick killer, of children. They had no idea of the double life he had led. They only knew him as a gentle, loving husband and a caring father, who always had time to listen. He was a good churchgoer and a dedicated Cub Scout leader, a real pillar of the community.

  The day of the big showdown between Mark Downing and Evelyn Rhodes had finally come. It was a bright and sunny day with clear blue skies and a scattering of fluffy white cumulus clouds here and there. Temperatures were in the mid to upper 70s with a slight northwesterly breeze coming from a cold front out of Canada.

  The three of them met in Rachel’s office building coffee shop. Rachel, of course Evelyn Rhodes and Clayton Crawford, who was definitely counting on the posters he had made up to carry the day. Everyone was excited over the prospect and could almost smell victory in the air. They had met there to go over the fine points. They wanted to discuss at the meeting and to make sure nothing was missed. They got straightened their clothing, paying their bill and took the Skyway to Mark Downing’s office, a little nervous.

  Everything was ready for them as they entered this practical office. Mark ushered them to a small seating area with comfortable furniture and end tables, and a large coffee table. The coffee table could also be used as a small desktop. A sterling silver tea and coffee service was set up in one corner, in case anyone should care for any. A small refrigerator would provide cold soda or water, whichever was preferred. After everyone was made comfortable, Rachel w
as the first to open the meeting.

  “We have called this meeting together to go over a few things with you in hopes that we can reach an equitable agreement. I sincerely hope we can end this stalemate today and move on to more important matters.”

  “I don’t know about you Rachel,” Mark replied. “But several millions of dollars is a pretty important matter to me. And that’s what I’ll stand to lose if I let Mrs. Rhodes here keep her little restaurant. Let’s cut to the chase. I can see no way in the world this can end with both parties involved walking away winners. In almost every game there has to be a winner. And there has to be a loser. I don’t intend to los,e no matter what. However, if you can show me how I can have what I want and still allow Mrs. Rhodes to keep her business, I’m all ears.”