Diary of a Serial Killer - Softcover

Gaffney, Ed

 
9780440243731: Diary of a Serial Killer
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0440243734 ISBN 13: 9780440243731
Verlag: Dell Pub Co, 2007

Inhaltsangabe

For defense attorneys Zack Wilson and Terry Tallach, time is precious. Not just because they’re paid by the hour. Or because their careers have taken off after a succession of high-profile cases. Or because a baffling, shocking serial murder case is threatening to tear Zack’s family apart. For these two lawyers, time is precious because they have just walked into the wrong courtroom at the wrong time, where a man is shooting a gun into a crowd that includes Zack’s innocent young son.

But until the last second, there’s hope. While a woman detective desperately races through the city streets to stop a sadistic serial killer, while a puzzle of lies, madness, and brutal manipulation comes together, two men are out of time—for everything but the truth....

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Ed Gaffney took ten years of work as a criminal lawyer, added an overactive imagination, and came up with a new career as a novelist. This has led to an unexpected number of requests from his softball teammates to appear with Terry and Zack in future books. Ed lives west of Boston with his wife, New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann, their two children, and their anxious, but ever-loyal dogs, Sugar and Spice. He is the author ofPremeditated Murder and Suffering Fools, both featuring Zack Walker and Terry Tallach, and is currently at work on his next legal thriller.

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Chapter One


Five Weeks Earlier
August 15

"ARE YOU TELLING ME SOME SERIAL KILLER took a twenty-year vacation and then all of a sudden started murdering people again last night?"

Police Detective Vera Demopolous put a pair of latex gloves on, and carefully removed the letter from the plastic evidence bag.

She had just walked through the front door of her first murder scene as lead detective–the single-family home at 53 Lakeview Street in the Indian Oaks section of Springfield. She was talking to Sergeant Jimmy Wong, who had almost twenty-five years on the job. Wong had been a rookie on the force back in the early '80s. Right around the time Vera was attending Benjamin Franklin Elementary School in Fairbanks, Alaska.

Jimmy laughed. "I doubt it. Willy Grasso put away the Springfield Shooter back in '84. Alan Lombardo. Real sick guy. I'm just saying, from what I remember, this scene is a little like those–including a note from the killer. At least from what I heard. I was doing mainly traffic control back then. Not too many murder investigations."

Vera turned her attention to the letter. It was on a plain white piece of paper, and looked like it had been run off a computer printer.

To the Detective assigned to this case:

First, please give my regards to Detective Grasso. I hope he is enjoying his well-earned retirement.

As I'm sure you must have surmised, this letter was written before I got here, so I will not, herein, be able to provide you with many details of my activities. But I'm sure the condition in which I leave Mr. Chatham will provide you with more than enough work to keep you busy for some time. Of course I will tape him up, and I will shoot him, but beyond that–well, I will just have to see how things progress.

What I can tell is that I'll be in touch with you soon about the next murder you'll be working on. (Oh yes, I'm one of those kinds of killers!!!)

But I don't want to distract you from Mr. Chatham. You're going to want to pay special attention to him, because he's our first. Go ahead, Detective, look for clues, ask around, see if you can find me before I kill somebody else.

But you won't.



When she finished reading it, she replaced the letter in the evidence bag. Jimmy gestured over his shoulder and said, "Body's over here in the living room."

Vera followed the sergeant as Wong turned left off the entry hall. Forensics and Crime Scene were already well into their work. "Can you fill me in on what you've got so far?"

Vera was lucky that somebody as experienced as Jimmy Wong was at the scene. Murder scenes were always complicated, and for now, Vera was working without any backup.

She had joined the force two years ago, but three of the detectives who had been working when she started were gone. Willy Grasso, the senior member, had retired and moved to Florida. His former partner, Ole Pedersen, was on medical leave recovering from surgery, and John Morrison had died in the line of duty.

Suddenly Vera was one of the most experienced detectives in the shorthanded precinct. When Lieutenant Carasquillo had assigned last night's murder investigation to her, he'd assured her that she'd be getting help soon. And he'd mentioned that he'd left word for Willy Grasso to call her because of the similarities to the Springfield Shooter case twenty years ago.

"Okay. Victim's name is Corey Samuel Chatham. Earlier this morning, around eight-thirty, a software engineer named Muhammed– No, wait"–Wong checked his notes–"Maleek Muhammed, pulled into the driveway to pick up Chatham to go to work. They carpool, and it was Muhammed's turn to drive. Chatham is always on time, ready to go, but today he doesn't come right out, so Muhammed honks the horn. Still no Corey. Muhammed gets out of the car, knocks on the door, rings the bell, no answer. Now he's getting worried, so he starts walking around the house, peeking in windows, and sure enough, he sees somebody sitting in a chair in the living room. He calls 911, the uniforms break in, and it's Chatham, DOA, duct-taped to a recliner. Looks like small-caliber handgun, maybe a .22. Shot twice, in the groin and the eye. There's some red marks on his neck and chest, maybe a burn. And one of his fingers is missing. Looks like it was cut off. The ME hasn't gotten here yet, but the body was cold when the uniforms found it."

Vera felt herself make the mental shift she needed so she could do her job. Her grandmother called it putting on Vera's grim suit. She had first named it that when she watched normally happy-go-lucky and bubbly ten-year-old Vera sit absolutely still with a frozen expression on her face and say nothing while getting stitches in her leg after falling in the playground on some broken glass.

The modest-sized living room where the corpse was found was furnished with the plush, leather recliner on which Chatham had died, which faced a wooden entertainment console that housed a flat-screen television and a stereo. The shelves of the large console contained an extensive collection of science fiction DVDs, books of art, and hardcover collections of comic strips. There were also framed photos, several featuring Chatham and an orange-striped cat, and a portrait of a young girl in a Catholic school uniform.

There was also one of Chatham, looking both embarrassed and thrilled, at a theme park, dressed in a Star Trek uniform.

At right angles with the recliner was a dark red leather sofa, marred only by a very small scratch on one arm. Yesterday's newspaper lay at one end, folded neatly.

In front of the sofa stood a wood-and-glass coffee table, on which sat a remote control for the TV, and two more art books.

The place was almost ludicrously neat.

Chatham, himself, was a very different story.

The victim was a light-skinned African-American, probably in his fifties, with curly black hair that had started to gray. He was average height, and maybe a little overweight. He wore khaki pants and a blue oxford shirt. His feet were bare.

In short, nothing out of the ordinary.

Until you looked at his grotesque wounds.

It would be up to the medical examiner to make the final call, of course, but from the marks around the eye socket, it sure looked like that shot was taken point-blank.

The one to the groin wasn't as clear, because the pants were so badly bloodstained.

And the missing right index finger looked like it had been severed before he had been moved to the recliner, because the upholstery on the arm of the chair under the missing finger had not been ripped or torn at all.

If the finger had been cut off while Corey sat here, you'd have expected the leather on which it had rested to have been damaged. Unless, of course, the finger had been snipped off with a tool of some kind.

Jeez. People could really suck, sometimes.

Blood had pooled on the seat of the recliner, and on the floor under the chair. It was pretty clear that the victim had been taped here, and then shot. There were no bloodstains anywhere else in the house.

After Crime Scene had taken photos of the victim as they had found him, Vera gently tried to tip the head forward a bit, to see if there was an exit wound, but rigor mortis had already set in, and the head remained rigidly fixed against the seat back. She turned back to Jimmy, and asked, "Where's the coworker–Muhammed–now?"

"We let him go to work after he gave us a statement. I told him you'd want to speak to him later today. I wrote down his contact information." Jimmy handed Vera a small sheet of paper with the witness's phone number and address.

"When was the last time anybody saw Chatham...

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Verlag
Dell Pub Co
Erscheinungsdatum
2007
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0440243734
ISBN 13 
9780440243731
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
352
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Dell GmbH
6997927350
DE.CustomerSupport@dell.com

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