Read Online Two Graves (A Kesle City Homicide Novel) by D.A. Graystone - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: D.A. Graystone
Tags: detective, Revenge, serial killer, Murder, bullying, bully, detective fiction, murder by unusual means, detective ebook, police investigation
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man.”
“Could be a woman.”
“That might explain no rape,” Tetrault agreed.
Mann stretched and rubbed the back of his neck. “Who had that case a few years back, the one where they thought it was devil worshipers?”
Kydd shrugged but Tetrault, who had been at Southfield for five years, spoke up. “The sacrifice thing? Greer. It wasn’t a sacrifice though boss, just two girls getting rid of some rival on the cheerleading squad. Thought they could throw everything off them – good Christian girls that they were.”
Mann looked at his watch. He was running late. Brant Davis wanted him to come to the hospital to discuss something about Davis’ nephew, Cliff. Mann knew the boy had been tossed out of the police academy a couple years ago and disappeared. Davis had sounded pissed. If Cliff was back Mann thought he better get there before Davis got any angrier.
“OK. I’ll just see if Greer recognizes anything. You two stay with what you have. Keep checking for any connections. Check out this boyfriend. Canvas the bar and the neighborhood. Come back tonight for the bar. Pull in the Intimidators and see if there is anything more there. But don’t mention this latest victim, the sign or the knife. They’ll mouth off all over the street if they find out that Gabel’s knife was used. Just see how far their territory extends or at least how far they roam. I’ll talk to Greer. I want to see if we should be worried about some kind of cult angle. If we’ve got a crazy on our hands, we had better move fast.”
Really fast, Mann thought, before The Hill decides a gang killing is politically less damaging than a serial killer.
Chapter 12
Preston threw the paper down and cursed.
You killed the wrong one.
He looked at the paper on the floor. “Who the hell is Christine Yeck?”
That would be the woman you killed in the alley, idiot.
“I killed Sandra Kew,” Preston shouted.
Louder, I’m not sure they heard you all the way downtown!
How could it not be Sandra? It looked so much like her. He would have sworn it was her.
He went to the bookshelf and pulled out a thin book. He carried it to the dining table where he sat staring at the book. His rush of anger quickly faded into fear. He never understood why he kept the book. It meant nothing but pain. But now, he was beginning to understand.
Rubbing his sweaty hands on his pants, he got up and walked to the kitchen. His eyes never left the book as though it would suddenly open and all his worst fears would spill out. He reached into the refrigerator and felt for the milk carton. He carried it back to the table but made no move to pour the milk.
He wiped his palms again and then slowly opened the book. The spine of the book let out a loud crack, startling him. He laughed uneasily. What did he expect? He had never opened the book since he got it the twenty-five years ago.
Who the hell would he want to sign his Year Book? He didn’t even have a picture in the book. He had been sure to be absent that day since he had a swollen eye from one of his father’s “lessons”. His only picture was with the band holding his flute – the worst possible instrument.
Carefully, he paged past the message from the Principal and the pictures of all the teachers – useless bunch of turds. They could barely teach and they sure couldn’t protect him from his tormentors. Most of them were as afraid of the bullies as he was. And the rest were even bigger bullies. His hand was shaking by the time he was at the page titled “Graduates”.
The first pictures generated memories of fear and hiding – years of absolute hell. The hours he spent with the layout of the school, carefully planning alternate routes to avoid this hall or that area. His bladder nearly bursting but never daring to venture into the washroom. Always walking with his eyes down, praying he would not make eye contact. Nothing but pain. All because of THEM!
As he saw more pictures, the memories of the
“Could be a woman.”
“That might explain no rape,” Tetrault agreed.
Mann stretched and rubbed the back of his neck. “Who had that case a few years back, the one where they thought it was devil worshipers?”
Kydd shrugged but Tetrault, who had been at Southfield for five years, spoke up. “The sacrifice thing? Greer. It wasn’t a sacrifice though boss, just two girls getting rid of some rival on the cheerleading squad. Thought they could throw everything off them – good Christian girls that they were.”
Mann looked at his watch. He was running late. Brant Davis wanted him to come to the hospital to discuss something about Davis’ nephew, Cliff. Mann knew the boy had been tossed out of the police academy a couple years ago and disappeared. Davis had sounded pissed. If Cliff was back Mann thought he better get there before Davis got any angrier.
“OK. I’ll just see if Greer recognizes anything. You two stay with what you have. Keep checking for any connections. Check out this boyfriend. Canvas the bar and the neighborhood. Come back tonight for the bar. Pull in the Intimidators and see if there is anything more there. But don’t mention this latest victim, the sign or the knife. They’ll mouth off all over the street if they find out that Gabel’s knife was used. Just see how far their territory extends or at least how far they roam. I’ll talk to Greer. I want to see if we should be worried about some kind of cult angle. If we’ve got a crazy on our hands, we had better move fast.”
Really fast, Mann thought, before The Hill decides a gang killing is politically less damaging than a serial killer.
Chapter 12
Preston threw the paper down and cursed.
You killed the wrong one.
He looked at the paper on the floor. “Who the hell is Christine Yeck?”
That would be the woman you killed in the alley, idiot.
“I killed Sandra Kew,” Preston shouted.
Louder, I’m not sure they heard you all the way downtown!
How could it not be Sandra? It looked so much like her. He would have sworn it was her.
He went to the bookshelf and pulled out a thin book. He carried it to the dining table where he sat staring at the book. His rush of anger quickly faded into fear. He never understood why he kept the book. It meant nothing but pain. But now, he was beginning to understand.
Rubbing his sweaty hands on his pants, he got up and walked to the kitchen. His eyes never left the book as though it would suddenly open and all his worst fears would spill out. He reached into the refrigerator and felt for the milk carton. He carried it back to the table but made no move to pour the milk.
He wiped his palms again and then slowly opened the book. The spine of the book let out a loud crack, startling him. He laughed uneasily. What did he expect? He had never opened the book since he got it the twenty-five years ago.
Who the hell would he want to sign his Year Book? He didn’t even have a picture in the book. He had been sure to be absent that day since he had a swollen eye from one of his father’s “lessons”. His only picture was with the band holding his flute – the worst possible instrument.
Carefully, he paged past the message from the Principal and the pictures of all the teachers – useless bunch of turds. They could barely teach and they sure couldn’t protect him from his tormentors. Most of them were as afraid of the bullies as he was. And the rest were even bigger bullies. His hand was shaking by the time he was at the page titled “Graduates”.
The first pictures generated memories of fear and hiding – years of absolute hell. The hours he spent with the layout of the school, carefully planning alternate routes to avoid this hall or that area. His bladder nearly bursting but never daring to venture into the washroom. Always walking with his eyes down, praying he would not make eye contact. Nothing but pain. All because of THEM!
As he saw more pictures, the memories of the
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