Bell to Pay
A Samantha Bell Crime Thriller
Jeremy Waldron
Also by Jeremy Waldron
Dead and Gone to Bell
Bell Hath No Fury
Bloody Bell
Bell to Pay
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2019 Jeremy Waldron
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author and/or publisher. No part of this publication may be sold or hired, without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the writer’s imagination and/or have been used fictitiously in such a fashion it is not meant to serve the reader as actual fact and should not be considered as actual fact. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
A Word from Jeremy
Afterword
About the Author
Chapter One
He swiveled his chair and moved to the side, bringing his attention to the second set of computer monitors he had sorting through a difficult set of data. There were four monitors in total and all were operating at max memory capacity. Everything was moving faster than expected—including his fingers racing over the keyboard. He hadn’t planned to work at light speed, but he welcomed the challenge as if the universe was testing his resolve, asking him to prove he was worthy of going through with his master plan.
As Loxley worked, he listened to the buzz and clicks gathering speed from his hard drives, remaining confident that he had assembled a machine capable of handling his request. He was impressed, patted himself on the back for creating something as dangerous and powerful as what sat before him. It was a marvelous masterpiece, one that was designed to kill.
Without thought, he reached for his cold drink and sipped from the narrow can of Red Bull. The explosion of taste straightened his spine, opened his veins. His fingers tapped with greater intent as they moved across the keyboard in a steady drum before coming to an abrupt stop.
In that split second of pause, everything went quiet and still and so did the machine as he exhaled a built-up breath of relief.
Sweeping his gaze to the left, he watched the data compile on one of the four monitors. His knee bounced with uncontrolled anxiety as he stared without blinking, hoping it all would come together like the greatest of puzzles he loved working on as a kid. He had the skills—he knew it better than anybody that he could do this—but the jitters of nerves bounced in his stomach as a part of him still couldn’t believe he was actually going through with his idea.
He felt the vibration in the floor through the soles of his slippers before hearing the loud rumble from a passing motorcycle that ripped along the street between the buildings outside his window in downtown Denver.
Unflinching, he kept his focus on the task at hand. The curtains were drawn and the only light inside the little rectangular office no bigger than the size of a backyard shed came from his LED monitors which he had dimmed because it was easier on his eyes. He continued to stare at one of the monitors and couldn’t stop drumming his fingers on this knee as he waited for his request to gain access into the home security system. It would either be accepted or denied.
A fan in the back kicked on the AC and soon the cool air blew across the back of his neck. He wiped the pellets of sweat from his brow and continued monitoring the data his computers were feeding him, waiting for the portal to open and welcome him inside.
His cat jumped into his lap, nudging, prodding, and purring when the red light suddenly flicked to green. A slow grin spread across his face as he cast his sparkling gaze to his cat and said, “Some things are just meant to be, Little John.”
Little John flicked his tail and purred louder.
The upper right computer monitor’s black screen flicked to life and, with it, brought a clear picture into the private life of Richard Thompson. There was no easier way to break inside somebody’s house than to do it remotely—watching them without them ever knowing. The ease and transparency of modern society was both a blessing and a curse, Loxley thought as he watched his subject move between frames.
Richard Thompson was alone, being watched through the lenses of his own security cameras. He worked behind the computer inside his private study, just as Loxley wanted. For the past six weeks Loxley had had his eye on Richard. He’d learned Richard’s routine, familiarized himself with Richard’s life patterns, and even got to know Richard’s community as Loxley remotely traveled along with him wherever Richard took him. Loxley knew everything there was to know about Richard, including the secrets that he didn’t want anyone else to know about.
Loxley grinned and pulled his headset over his ears and dropped the attached microphone in front of his mouth. It was just after 6PM on a Saturday in May and he had less than an hour to complete his task before Richard’s wife would arrive home.
Rolling his chair closer to his desk, he nudged Little John off his lap and got to work. First, he checked that he had full access to Richard’s house, including his appliances, and once he was confident he did, he worked his way i
nto the telephone line, taking over full control of it as well. This wasn’t Loxley’s first time gaining access to Richard’s house, but each time was different and with it came unexpected leaps that Loxley had to work through. The difference tonight was Loxley knowing that this would be his last time breaking through Richard’s security system.
Richard was still in his study when Loxley called the house.
“Hello?” Richard answered after the second ring.
Loxley didn’t respond, only stared at his monitor watching his victim finally give in and hang up, assuming it was a wrong number. Loxley smiled as he thought about how helpless Richard was—how he didn’t even see death staring him in the eyes. The irony brought a chuckle to Loxley’s lips as he amused himself by locking Richard inside his house in case he tried to run.
Little John jumped on his desk and Loxley turned to him and said, “Now, the rabbit in the hat trick. How to trip the fireplace without having it ignite. Think I can do it, LJ?”
Little John flicked his tail and lifted his head higher.
“I knew you would believe in me, little buddy.” Loxley patted his cat’s head.
With the poisonous gas spilling into the house, it didn’t take long for the smart home system to pick up the dangers already taking effect on Mr. Thompson. Loxley could see the data coming through on his monitors as he kept a watchful eye on Richard who was across the hall blinking through the first of his symptoms.
As the numbers rose, Loxley finally decided to send the alarm and make the call.
The house phone rang and Loxley watched Richard react to the alarm going off in the hall. The line continued ringing as Richard hurried into the kitchen to retrieve the phone off the wall. “Hello.”
“Mr. Thompson, this is Rocky Mountain Home Securities,” Loxley said. “I’m calling to tell you that we’ve detected high levels of carbon monoxide in the living room and hall area. Are you in the house now?”
“Yes. I just heard the alarm.”
Loxley smiled at the sound of panic cracking Richard’s voice. Maintaining an even tone, Loxley continued, “I’m going to ask you to evacuate the premises immediately. The fire department is on their way.”
Richard rubbed his brow, stumbled a little as he hurried to the front door. He pulled and tugged at the handle but the door didn’t budge. He tried to twist the dead bolt free but it kept springing back in place. “What the—“
“Everything all right, sir?” The corners of Loxley’s eyes crinkled with amusement as he watched his victim sprint to the back door. Again, he couldn’t open it. Loxley bit his knuckle to stifle the laugh he felt bubbling up inside of him. A tent pitched in his pants and he felt the swell of arousal throb hard and steady as the first signs of climax showed.
“I can’t seem to open my doors.” Richard’s voice raised higher.
Loxley leaned closer to the computer screen and looked his victim directly in his eyes, saying, “That’s right, Richard Thompson. I’ve locked you inside and now you will die for the crimes you’ve committed against the many innocent and unassuming victims of your fraudulent past.”
Loxley leaned back, smiling, as he listened to Richard scream into the air and beg for mercy.
Chapter Two
I was with the girls, and my teenage son Mason, kicking off summer with our first backyard barbeque of the season. Mason and Allison were shooting hoops in the back near the garage while I manned the grill and listened to Erin tell us the funniest story I had heard in quite a while.
“It was the first time with this doctor,” Erin paused to give us all a look, “who happened to be a male but I thought was a woman.”
“Kind of like how everyone thinks Sam is a man?” I said.
“Right, but his name was Cortney.”
“Who names their boy Cortney?” Susan turned her head and looked to Heather. “Don’t they know they’re just setting their child up for a lifetime of troubles?”
When Susan looked to my sister, Heather said, “Don’t ask me, I don’t have any kids.”
I laughed and sipped from my beer. I loved nights like this where it was just us girls with no outside pressure to act a certain way. May had brought seasonally warm temperatures, flowers, and plenty of sunshine to keep us happy. Here, in my backyard, we could let our hair down and not act all tough when fighting our way through a man’s world that seemed determined to keep us feeding at the bottom.
“Anyway,” Erin continued, “once I learned Cortney wasn’t a woman but a man—and a rather attractive one at that—I went from confident to nervous and uncomfortable in a second flat.”
“No kidding. I would have just walked right on out of there,” I said laughing.
“Wish I did.” Erin nodded. “Instead, I put my feet up in the stirrups and did the most foolish thing ever—I started a conversation with him.” Erin slapped a palm against her forehead and shook her head, her cheeks reddening with absolute embarrassment.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“More importantly, why?” Susan couldn’t stop laughing. “Was it because he was that attractive?”
“I don’t know. I was nervous. But this is what I said.” Erin looked me directly in the eye. “So, do you enjoy your job?”
Heather spit out her beer in a fanning spray that coated the backyard privacy fence as we all burst out laughing.
Erin’s face was as red as a tomato. “The nurse even couldn’t contain her chuckles. I sounded like such a perv!”
“What did he say?” I asked as I listened with one ear as Susan mocked Erin with my sister before her cell phone rang and she took the call inside. “Please tell me you got his number.”
“I don’t think I can ever go back there again.” Erin fell into her chair and wrapped her lips around the beer bottle, draining it until it was empty.
“Dr. Cortney won’t forget you, I can assure you that.” I laughed, turned to face the grill, and flipped the burgers and portabella mushrooms over. They sizzled and smelled delicious.
“Sam,” Erin snuck up behind me and was now whispering in my ear, “have you told Susan about your reporting?”
I stared at the grill, thinking about my story being printed in tomorrow’s paper. I’d spent the last six weeks investigating a wealthy business owner who was using his charity foundation as his own piggy bank. The story was certainly going to bring legal troubles to the owner, but that was the least of my worries. Just yesterday I’d received an email that had me doubting everything—including my own safety.
The email came through our website www.RealCrimeNews.com and I was certain the subject of my story sent it. I’d thought about it all last night and it still put a chill up my spine.
Be warned, Dearest Bell, you’re barking up the wrong tree. If you publish even just a piece of the fabricated story you’re investigating, there will be hell to pay.
Someone knew about my highly secretive investigation and I still hadn’t figured out who—or how—but this inquiry wasn’t an anomaly. I had others I was investigating and now that my secret wasn’t so secret anymore, I didn’t know how far word had spread.
“When, Sam?” Erin’s words were back in my ear. “You know she won’t like it if she reads about it first.”
“I know,” I said, watching Susan step back outside, wondering how I could possibly break the news to her. Something was wrong, I could see it by the way she was hugging herself. She was crying. “What happened?” I asked.
Susan’s eyes found their way to me. “A client of mine is dead.”
We moved to Susan and took her hands into our own. “Who?”
Her teary eyes landed on mine. “Richard Thompson.” The subject of my investigation.
Chapter Three
With the last of the charcoal dying out, I called my editor at the Colorado Times, Ryan Dawson. News of Richard Thompson’s death may have hit me harder than Susan. The difference between us was simple. I knew the truth of the man he was, including the assumed threat he had sent m
e. Where Susan allowed her emotions to spill out of her, I was simply shocked into paralysis, wedged between a rock and a hard place thanks to my story I couldn’t seem to tell to one of my best friends.
“Sam,” Dawson answered his cell phone, “this better be important. Ethan has a game and I don’t want to miss it.”
I could hear parents screaming and cheering, children calling out in the background against the pinging sounds of metal bats striking baseballs. “This won’t take long,” I said, “but I just heard Richard Thompson is dead.”
The background noises continued but he didn’t respond. Then I heard the crackling of what I assumed to be Dawson’s facial stubble scratch over the microphone. He lowered his voice and asked how I knew and I told him. I didn’t have to vouch for Susan, Dawson knew her to be a credible source.
“Jesus, Sam, do you know how it happened?”
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