Maniacal: A Detective Jade Monroe Crime Thriller Book 1 (5 page)

Clark scratched his forehead and tapped his foot against the tile floor. “Yeah, okay, let’s call it a wrap for tonight. I’ll see you two in the morning.”

Dime paced back and forth in that special room set up downstairs. The scent of musty basement filled the air and stung his nostrils as he descended the staircase, but he didn’t care. He was used to it. The dark wood paneling glued to the cinder block walls buckled in some spots due to moisture. He didn’t think to run the dehumidifier as often as he should. The basement served only one purpose these days, and company didn’t stop by as they did back then—when life was good and his marriage was strong. Even if he did have company, they wouldn’t be allowed in that room anymore—it was his private place. A small refrigerator and bar were all that remained of the happier days, nearly ten years ago. Friends and family used to spend time in that typical Wisconsin rec room during holiday gatherings. Music played, and guys sat around the green felt–covered poker table, each with a beer in their cup holder, playing cards. Women cooked the meals and danced together with a glass of wine in hand. Laughter resonated in that room years ago. After the wife left, things changed. The friends and family didn’t come around anymore. Today the room stood quiet and had a different purpose. It had fallen into disrepair, looking much as it had when he was just a kid.

His focus had shifted, and his mind went dark long ago. The psychiatrist prescribed medication for his dangerous, psychotic mood swings, but pills were the enemy, and so was she. Women weren’t to be trusted, especially somebody like a female shrink. He canceled all his future appointments with her. She was sneaky and conniving—they all were. He had to keep his thoughts and focus sharp—just like his knife.

Dime stood in front of the corkboard wall and stared at years of saved newspaper clippings and photographs. He poured a Stella Artois into a glass as he studied the face in most of the newspaper articles. She was just another woman that he hated, yet in his own disturbed way, he wanted her. Her flawless alabaster skin was like fine china. Her eyes were a brilliant green, and her hair was the color of raven feathers. She was tall and slender yet had sexy curves. Well-defined arms gave her a toned, strong appearance.

He walked to the side table ten feet away. His lips curled, forming an evil grin as he reached in the drawer and pulled out the knife. With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw it at the wall, stabbing through her face in one of the photos.

I’ll make that bitch sit up and take notice, one way or another. She’ll learn soon enough that I demand respect.

He was ready to plan his next kill, but he’d have to follow her first to learn more. Her routine needed to be ingrained in his mind. He needed to study her habits, what she did every night after work, where she went, who she visited. The next one would be more personal. She’d pay attention to him whether she wanted to or not.

The bag containing Morris King’s cell phone and wallet, along with Dime’s own bloody clothes, still sat on the floor where he’d tossed it last night. With a grunt and a shove, he pushed the bookcase to the side and deposited the bag behind it in the large cutaway area of the paneling. He pushed the bookcase back into place, making sure it was centered perfectly between the pictures of his mother on the wall, and took a seat on the edge of the wooden chair that had always been downstairs. His legs bounced in agitation as he scribbled notes in the spiral notebook he kept close at hand. He glanced at the bottle of prescription medication next to him on the side table. It mocked him.
Partake of me and you’ll be all right
, it seemed to say. The voices echoing in his head caused his temples to pound and his eyes to blur, but he was having none of it. With an outburst of rage, he threw the bottle, and it smashed violently against the basement wall. He didn’t need those drugs to be okay. In his mind, he was fine the way he was. When he needed to, he could control the impulsive, aggressive behavior he had been diagnosed with. The pills would cause him to lose his focus—his mission. He hadn’t taken them for months, and right now he had another job to do.

I arrived home just after seven o’clock and felt spent. The deli dinner I’d picked up—two slices of baked ham and a pint of German potato salad—would be fine, and I had no ambition to cook anyway.

A few minutes every night, I gave Polly and Porky some attention. I opened the cage and placed my finger under Polly’s feet. She hopped on, and I lifted her out. Polly was my first lovebird, but after six months of watching her in the cage alone, I realized she needed a mate. That was where Porky came in. Today they thrived as a couple, and my guilt had passed. I cooed, petted her pretty aqua feathers, and gave her a little kiss on the head. I did the same with Porky. Lovebirds were easy pets and didn’t require much maintenance. Plus they were far snugglier than goldfish. I filled the clear plastic water dish with fresh water and poured more birdseed in their cup.

My deli take-out dinner was wolfed down in no time as I sat at the antique oak claw-foot table my grandma had left me in her will. I always loved the table as a kid, and she remembered that before she passed away. My favorite TV cop series played in the background.

I put my empty plate in the sink and walked from room to room, looking at everything I could live without. With Lance pressuring me to get the house listed, I knew I had to get rid of a lot of things. He’d already taken what Cassie, his girlfriend, wanted. I was certain her small apartment in Richfield was getting cramped.

Buying a two-bedroom condo was my plan—it was really all I needed anyway. No yard maintenance either; I was looking for a place that had all of the yard work included in the HOA fees. I added that note to my list of requirements. With a little online research a few weeks back, I had found Melissa Mately—a friendly, engaging Realtor who was very ambitious. She had already done a walk-through of the house last week and given me tips on how to stage it for a quick sale. She was ready to list the house whenever I was. I told her I’d get back to her soon. I hadn’t scheduled a visit to any condos yet, but procrastinating wasn’t getting me anywhere—it had to be done. I pulled the card she had given me out of my wallet and dialed her number.

“Hello, Realty World, this is Melissa Mately speaking. How may I improve your day?”

“Hi, Melissa, it’s Jade Monroe. I’m wondering if we can set up sometime Sunday to look at a few condos in North Bend.”

“Jade, it’s great to talk to you again, and yes, we absolutely can. Let me grab a piece of paper.”

I waited for her to return to the phone as I studied my fingernails. I was months overdue for a manicure, but it would have to wait.

“Okay, I’m back. I have eight listings available. All I need are your general likes and dislikes, then we can narrow them down.”

We went over what I was looking for and decided to tour four condos on Sunday afternoon. I felt better after hanging up. I was finally starting the process of moving forward.

I snuggled on the couch with two soft pillows, and a glass of red wine sat on the coffee table. I had all intentions of vegging out and relaxing in front of the TV. My buzzing phone woke me. I must have dozed off during a commercial. I looked at my cell phone screen—Amber was calling. My younger sister and I were close and usually talked every night before bed.

“Hey there, Sis.” I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and squinted at the clock above the TV. It was already nine thirty.

“You have sleep voice,” she said.

“Yeah, you busted me. Guess I dozed off for a bit. What’s up?”

“We need to talk.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” I chuckled at my sister’s nonsense and walked into the kitchen. I grabbed a glass out of the cabinet above the sink, filled it with water, and sat at the table.

“I can’t take Bruce any longer. Mom turns a blind eye to his drinking problem. She says she doesn’t want to get into it with him and needs to choose her battles. Meanwhile the creep leers at me, especially when he’s had one too many.”

“He’s so disgusting. You are leer-worthy, though,” I teased. Amber was a beautiful young woman with long brown hair and gold flecks in her hazel eyes. She had recently turned twenty-one.

“Jade, I’m serious. Can I move in with you? Lance is gone, so you have plenty of room. I promise I’ll pitch in. It will make your life easier if I’m there. Plus I’ll cook meals now and then and clean the house. I swear you won’t regret it.”

“I haven’t said yes yet, and you know living here is temporary, even for me. The house is going to be sold soon, I hope. My plan was to buy a condo meant for one, and I’m actually going to start looking with real intent.”

“Jade, I
do
have a job. I’ll pay you rent, so that way you can afford something a little larger.”

“It isn’t about affordability. I have to think about it. We’ll discuss it more on Saturday, face to face, okay?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Good. I’m going to bed. Talk to you tomorrow.” I hung up, shuffled down the hallway, and climbed into my bed.

Sleep was hard to come by these last few days, and I woke up earlier than usual. One cup of coffee held me over while I showered and got dressed. My travel mug was filled with what remained in the pot, and I kissed the birds good morning and left.

I entered the bull pen and planted my rear in my chair—it was only seven fifteen. A vending machine bagel with cream cheese would hold me over until lunchtime, unless something distracted me from my noon meal. Jack walked in at quarter to eight. He slapped the doorframe and stuck his head in to say good morning. A jumbo cup of gas station coffee was in his hand—as usual. He said he was headed downstairs to talk to Dan and Kyle and to see if Doug had started Morris’s autopsy.

“Let me know when Doug thinks Terrance can come in to ID the body,” I said before he disappeared.

“Sure, no problem.”

I went to our coffee station to start a morning pot. The coffee bag felt suspiciously light, so I gave it a shake—empty.

“Damn it.”

I was going to meet up with the guys downstairs anyway. Hopefully, if there was any coffee left in their pot, I could mooch a cup from them. When I entered, Jack, Kyle, and Dan were in the crime lab discussing the lack of forensic evidence at the scene. I got lucky—there was still some coffee. I poured myself a cup, tasted it, and decided it was okay. I’d get by. I tore open two powdered creamers and stirred them in, then joined the guys at the table in the center of the room.

“Trying to find forensic evidence at the site was pretty useless, huh?” I said.

Kyle shook his head and sighed. “That area is nothing but weeds and farm fields. Our only chance would have been tire tracks or something dropped from a pocket, but that was a bust. We found nothing other than deer crap and fox scat. No human tracks, gum wrappers, cigarette butts, or anything of the like.”

“I doubt if this investigation is going to reveal anything in Washburn County. As far as what we actually have, it looks like the lake just happened to be the unfortunate dump spot,” Dan said.

“Has anyone checked in with Doug yet?”

Jack answered, “Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”

“Yeah, Doug is well under way with the autopsy. He should be able to give you an initial update before the end of the day. It isn’t like we don’t already know the cause of death, though,” Dan said.

Jack and I headed back upstairs. I sat at my desk, again paging through the jackets that Lindstrom had given us yesterday and thinking about what he had said. We didn’t have much to work with, only hunches that came to light during the conversation with him. The killer, in his opinion, wasn’t someone from their area. The MO was wrong. Thugs in the inner city would just shoot the victim and leave the body, not try to hide it at a lake in another county. The local gang members didn’t fit the profile of someone who would go to the trouble of doing that. They liked to take credit for their actions and have rival gangs fear them. The perp was someone, and something, different, according to Lindstrom.

“Monroe, Steele, in my office, now, please.”

Lieutenant Clark called us in and closed the door at our back.

“Have a seat.”

We each sat in a blue guest chair facing his desk, waiting for the lecture to begin. His face scrunched into a frown, his forehead furrowed with deep lines as he looked over the file we had started on Morris King. Over the last two days, we hadn’t accumulated much.

“Where’s this case going? No leads at all?”

I spoke up first. “The dump site is clean. Clayton and four deputies scoured every inch of land in the general area and found nothing of value. Kyle and Dan didn’t find any trace near the body, and Jack and I interviewed a number of the residents around the lake. Nobody saw anything unusual.”

Jack added, “Billy pulled the cell phone records. We matched Morris’s most recent calls to a number of boys he runs with, but there was nothing out of place there. It looks like they talk all the time. The only call that stood out was an incoming he took at 1:05 a.m. Wednesday that lasted just a few seconds.”

That appeared to pique the lieutenant’s attention. “And?”

“And it came in from a burner phone. We can’t track it.”

“Damn it. Anything else?”

“The plan is to spend the day in Milwaukee trying to track down the four boys that were supposedly Morris’s closest associates. We’ll get their statements, establish alibis, find out if any of them were with Morris two nights ago, and see what shakes loose. I doubt if we’re dealing with reputable people,” I said. “Everything they tell us—if they talk to us at all—could be total fabrication. We have no idea who we’re dealing with yet.”

Jack told the lieutenant about the conversation we’d had with Detective Lindstrom and how he didn’t think the killer was one of their locals.

“Okay, keep me posted throughout the day. Even though the media doesn’t know the cause of death, they’re still looking for information and calling here every few hours.”

Doug caught up with Jack before we headed out. According to his initial exam, Morris appeared to be a relatively healthy young man, considering his lifestyle. He had suffered a broken wrist and several cracked ribs during his lifetime, but his organs looked normal and healthy. His last meal was fried chicken. The cause of death was the more than obvious gaping slit that extended from ear to ear across his neck. He bled out in a matter of minutes. Doug estimated the murder weapon to be a thin, long, and extremely sharp blade, strong enough to slice open Morris’s throat in one pass and nearly sever his spinal cord. He guessed it to be a knife with at least an eight-inch blade. The man must have been taller, strong, and very quick to overtake Morris so easily, Doug had said.