A City Of Dread: Carter Peterson Mystery Series Book 7 Read online

  A City Of Dread

  Carter Peterson Mystery Series

  Book 7

  by

  Al Boudreau

  Copyright 2017

  Query Publishing, LLC

  All rights reserved

  A City Of Dread is a work of fiction.

  Names, places, and events are either products of the author’s

  imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual

  events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter1

  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 1

  It’s never a painless experience to work a crime scene. However, when the crime turns out to be murder and the scene falls within the outskirts of the city you call home, it’s downright jarring.

  I’d been exposed to hundreds of situations gone wrong while walking the beat as a Boston cop, but that particular chapter of my life had come to an end over a decade ago. The decision to change careers and move to Bridgeport, New Hampshire was a welcome shift, the pace and level of criminal activity up here nothing like the large metropolitan mess I was accustom to.

  Sadly, after spending nearly fourteen years living and working in the seacoast area as a private detective, I’d watched Bridgeport gradually take a turn for the worse. Now, as I did my best to negotiate the trash piles scattered across what used to be a bustling parking lot, the point was driven home in spades.

  I looked over at my personal and professional partner Sarah Woods, who was riding shotgun. “Were you aware the south side had turned into such a nasty wasteland?” I asked as we pulled up behind an unmarked cruiser belonging to Detective James, a Bridgeport cop we knew and worked with.

  “Not to this degree, and it breaks my heart,” she said as she stepped out into the sweltering, litter-filled wind. “This strip mall was thriving less than five years ago. I just can’t believe every single one of these places is out of business. I used to come down here with my friends and hang out at this café.”

  I looked over at the dilapidated storefront she’d pointed out. A fragment of the defunct shop’s original sign was hanging from a single fastener, banging and creaking against the building’s rotting wood siding. Empty beer cans, faded cardboard shipping cartons, and busted-up remnants of discarded furniture filled the covered patio where people used to sit and enjoy their coffee. “What a mess. We’ll be lucky to make it out of this place without getting a flat.”

  “Thought I heard you two pull up,” Detective James shouted as he rounded the far corner of the long, single-story structure. “Come on back. The victim’s buried under a pile of old wooden pallets out behind this miserable dump.”

  “You here alone?” Sarah inquired.

  “Unfortunately,” he replied as we trudged through the scattered debris. “Number one reason the chief and I kept hounding City Hall. Our department just can’t handle the workload with the skeleton staff we have left. Can I tell you how happy I am about the mayor’s decision to bring you two on board?”

  “You just did,” I said with a smile. “Glad we were available.”

  “Whew,” Sarah said as we turned the corner and got closer to the victim’s body. “I’ll never understand how medical examiners can get used to the smell of death.”

  “This July heat wave isn’t helping matters,” James replied. “I’m just thankful we’re working on the north side of the building, out of the sun.”

  “Who called it in?” I asked.

  “Local homeless guy, wandering around downtown. He approached one of my patrol officers and told him something wasn’t right over here. The officer decided to follow-up and discovered the body, but had to bail shortly after I got here. Bad accident up on the highway.”

  “Yep. We drove by it on the way in,” I said. “Tourist season’s in full swing. Brings all the crazy drivers back to our area.”

  “Bridgeport needs the money,” Sarah said. “The out-of-staters make it tough to get around, but their money helps pay Bridgeport’s bills.”

  “If it means having both of you available to me, I say bring the tourists in by the busload. Anyway … in regard to this scene, I haven’t moved a thing. I wanted to wait for you two to show before trying to get to this guy.”

  I pulled an oversized bandana out of my back pocket, draped it across my nose and mouth, and tied it in a knot behind my head. I held off on the rubber gloves, as the busted, nail-laden pallets would end up shredding them within seconds. “Did the medical examiner’s office give you any idea when they might show?”

  “They don’t even bother giving estimates, anymore,” James said. “They’re so understaffed, we’ll be lucky to see them before nightfall.”

  “Seriously?” Sarah blurted out. “It’s only 9 am. That’s out of control.”

  “Sarah’s right,” I said to James. “You’re obviously not going to stand around until they get here.”

  James threw his hands in the air after dragging a pallet out of the way. “The department’s been vetting and hiring part-time, private security guards to watch over our crime scenes until the ME’s office can get to them and sign off. Frees us up to go to the next call. You know, so we can get even further behind.”

  “I had no idea Bridgeport was in such rough shape, fiscally,” I said.

  “That’s what happens when residents keep voting down bonds, tax increases, and budgets,” James replied. “The money has to come from somewhere. They want all the services, but don’t want to pay---”

  “What’s that?” Sarah blurted out as I stepped away from the pile so James could take some photographs.

  I turned and stooped down so I could see what she was seeing. “Looks like some sort of brass handle.”

  “What? Where?” James asked, spinning around so quickly he nearly lost his balance.

  I moved aside and pointed toward the shiny, decorative object protruding out from beneath the deceased. “See it? Left hand side, right above the beltline.”

  “I see it. Not good,” James said as he moved in closer, took several photographs from different angles, then stood up and wiped the perspiration from his brow. “Same exact style and finish as the last two. Can’t make an official ruling until the ME shows, but if that handle matches the two from last week’s crime scenes, we’ve got a serial killer on our hands.”

  Chapter 2

  Detective James’s radio crackled with a message from dispatch just as we were getting ready to take a closer look at the victim. All units. Two-eleven in progress. Known fatalities.

  James rattled off a string of expletives before turning to us. “Carter … Sarah … I hate to ask, but can you two stay put until our rent-a-guard shows up? He shouldn’t be any more than five minutes out.”

  Sarah gave a nod.

  “No worries,” I said to James.

  “Sorry about this,” he shouted as he rushed off. “Case files for the other two murder investigations are on my desk back at the station.”

  Sarah approached the vic as soon as James left the scene, burying her
nose in the bend of her arm as she crouched down next to the body.

  Five seconds in close proximity was all she could muster.

  She stood up and scurried off to a less offensive spot. “Take a look at the material next to that handle,” she said after taking a few seconds to clear her air passages. “The t-shirt. It looks burnt.”

  I adjusted my bandana and moved in closer. Sure enough, the cloth was charred. I took a few seconds to study the area further before the flies and stench became too much. I rose and made my way over to where Sarah was standing. “Ever have a wood stove or a fireplace in any of your homes?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Of course. Why?”

  “Brass handle’s got a metal shaft coming out of it. Hard to tell without moving the vic’s body, but my guess is the murder weapon is a modified fireplace tool. They usually come in sets of four. Shovel, tongs, broom, and a poker with a pronged hook.”

  “Oh, yeah, okay … they come with the little holder stand thingy,” Sarah responded. “I’ve seen them on hearths inside other people’s homes. So, what are you thinking? Someone deliberately cut the working end off from each of those tools so they could be used as a weapon?”

  “Possibly. You’ve got to admit, it would make for one heck of a rugged skewer.”

  Sarah’s shoulders undulated as she grimaced. “Makes me ache all over just hearing you say that.”

  “Understandable. Guess I won’t tell you the rest of what I’m thinking.”

  Sarah hesitated then said, “You don’t have to. You’re thinking whoever did this heated the shaft up then stuck the vic with it.”

  I was about to compliment Sarah on her accurate read when a voice called out.

  “Is one of you Detective James?” the thirty-something male inquired, his clothing suggesting he was going for the ex-marine slash plain-clothes cop look. Funny thing was, his hardware contradicted the whole getup, telling me he was fixing for a gunfight---at the OK Corral. He wore revolvers on each hip, walking with enough swagger that I was convinced he was trying to channel Wyatt Earp.

  Sarah leaned in close. “Someone’s overcompensating.”

  I chuckled and waited for the guy to get closer before answering his question. “James left on another call. Asked us to stay until you got here.”

  “Got it,” he said and extended his hand. “Griffin’s the name.”

  “Carter Peterson,” I said as I shook his hand. “This is my partner, Sarah Woods.”

  “Ma’am,” Griffin said with a nod.

  “Well, we’ll leave you to it,” I said as I put my hand against the small of Sarah’s back.

  He gave us each a nod and meandered over toward the crime scene, a fit of coughing and choking grabbing him as we made our way around the corner of the building.

  “Serves him right for trying to be such a big shot,” Sarah said.

  “He’ll figure it out, eventually. Maybe after someone takes him down a couple notches.”

  “I suppose. So, where to from here?” she asked. “Should we go take a look at the other two case files?”

  “Absolutely. I’m curious about what the autopsy reports might tell us.” I got the car door for Sarah then went around, climbed in, and started the engine.

  “I’ve got to be honest … it makes me sick to my stomach that this is looking like a serial murder situation. This is Bridgeport, for crying out loud. I raised my son in this city.”

  “I hear you. It’s unsettling for me, too. Tell you what it does do, though. It strengthens my resolve to help nail whoever did this.” I reached out and took Sarah’s hand while steering my vehicle through the wind-blown debris.

  “Who takes the time to craft a murder weapon?” Sarah asked. “Why not just use a knife? A screwdriver, even?”

  “Wish I knew, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen it.”

  “Was the other one a case you ended up solving?” Sarah asked.

  “Nope. Back in my Boston cop days there was a string of murders. Perp used lengths of hand-made cable to choke his victims to death. Seven murders in all. As far as I know, despite a fair amount of DNA left behind, the crimes were never solved.”

  “Great.”

  “Look at it this way,” I said. “I wasn’t a detective back then, nor did I have you as a partner. We’ll solve this one.”

  Chapter 3

  “We should pop into Chief Goodhue’s office as a courtesy,” I said as I followed Sarah inside Bridgeport Police Station.

  “Oh, come on,” she said with a smile. “Don’t you think the chief is used to lots of different people rummaging around his detectives’ desks?”

  “Not too likely. Besides, James happened to mention that Goodhue’s been wearing his service revolver again, lately. You know, due to the staffing shortfall. That said, I intend to stay on his good side.”

  My comment made Sarah laugh out loud---just as Goodhue appeared at the end of the hallway.

  “Well … pleasure to see two outstanding members of my auxiliary staff in the building. Both of you seem pretty upbeat today.”

  “Laughter’s good for the soul,” I said as I reached out to shake the chief’s hand.

  “So I hear,” he replied. “Wish I had more to laugh about. Sounds like the circumstances involved in the scene you two just came from have raised the stakes a bit.”

  “Unfortunately,” Sarah said. “Detective James seems to think this one’s directly related to the other two murders.”

  “Guess we’ll know fairly soon,” he replied and handed Sarah a pair of files. “Here, you’ll need these. I was just on my way to return them to James’s desk. Feel free to spread out in the conference room if you’d like. No one’s using it right now. In fact, other than a couple two-bit criminals in lockup and our dispatcher at the mike, I think we’re the only ones in the building.”

  “Thanks, Chief,” I responded. “We’ll do our best to help the department out in any way we can.”

  Chief Goodhue slapped me on the shoulder then headed back up the hall toward his office.

  “You were right,” Sarah said. “Chief’s packing heat.”

  “He told me a while back that he’d stopped carrying his weapon because he rarely left the building.”

  “I respect the fact he understands the rules have changed,” Sarah said as she tossed the files onto the conference room table. “Some men in his position would just refuse to adjust their way of doing business. Guess Goodhue’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.”

  “He’s a good man,’ I said. “Makes me want to work harder to help him out.”

  “Me, too,” Sarah said as she flipped open one of the files and slid the other over to me. “Maybe we should---oh, wow.” She hesitated for a beat before holding a photo up so I could see it. The image showed a close-up of a shiny, decorative handle. “Look familiar?”

  “Just like the one we saw at the strip mall.” I took a few seconds to leaf through the file in front of me and found what I was looking for. I slid the photo over to Sarah. “Matched set.”

  “Yikes. James was right. These murders are totally connected.”

  “Yep. All three of those handles being the same is way beyond simple coincidence.”

  A few moments went by in silence as we delved into our respective case files, the details of which, both familiar and chilling.

  Sarah broke the silence. “Don’t know what you’re finding in that one, but what I’m seeing in this file is truly disturbing.”

  “Taser?”

  “That’s part of it,” she said.

  “Searing stab wound to the kidney?”

  Sarah closed her eyes and nodded. “Gosh, that gives me the heebeegeebees. I can almost feel it.”

  “No doubt. Lots of hate in an act like that. Giving someone an electrical shock, then stabbing them with a homemade cauterizing tool so they don’t bleed out right away.”

  “Hope this whacko realizes they’ve upped the game by being so evil,” Sarah said. “I’d pursue a mon
ster like this for free if it came down to it.”

  “Yep. Me, too. It’s probably not healthy for us to want to nail someone this badly, but this nut job definitely needs to be stopped.”

  “Want to swap files?” Sarah asked.

  I nodded and slid the entire contents of the one I’d been studying over to her, then began looking at the file she’d given to me. Within seconds I realized there was no doubt about it; the same person or persons had committed both crimes. Same methods. Same wounds. Same order of occurrence.

  “Assuming the vic we saw today is part of this same killing spree, I find it curious the gender changed on this last one. First two victims were men. Now, he decides to take a woman’s life?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “All three victims were men.”

  “Carter, I’m pretty sure it was a woman’s body we were looking at beneath those pallets today.”

  “I disagree. I know it was impossible to make a solid determination, considering the position of the body, but the clothing, hair, height, and hands all told me we were looking at a man.”

  “Guess we’ll find out later today,” she said.

  “Yep.” I studied the file for another minute. “Kind of troubling there’s not more helpful information in these interviews.”

  “I know. These two men came from such different walks of life. One was a successful insurance salesman, the other an unemployed war veteran. I can understand the lack of substance in the unemployed veteran’s file, but I would have guessed we’d find more information on the salesman.”

  “Yep. These two had nothing in common in regard to where and how they lived, aside from the fact they both called Bridgeport home. The insurance salesman was married and owned a home in a gated community, while the unemployed veteran was single, and had just moved into a subsidized apartment situation specifically designated for the homeless.”

  “I hate to ask, but do you think these files are lacking because James is so maxed-out?”